


Blood Ties

by DuschaPendragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boarding School, Bullying, Child Abuse, Depression, Drug Use, Euron is his own warning, Forced Prostitution, Forced Relationship, Implied paedophilia, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Multi, Murder, Poverty, Ramsay has a sister, Recreational Drug Use, Revenge killing, Sexual Content, Smoking, Underage Drinking, attempted suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 19:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 92
Words: 209,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3989302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuschaPendragon/pseuds/DuschaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay lives with his sister, Effie, scraping by and finding money wherever he can and by any means necessary. It's better than the alternative. But one day Ramsay's father turns up and makes him an offer he would be foolish to refuse. It's a chance for both their lives to change and for him and Effie to start afresh and to have a certain future for once.<br/>But everything has a price and debts must be paid, even when the cost threatens to push Effie over the edge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tissue

The blood had stopped by the time she heard her brother’s car speeding into the car park. She kept the tissue; a. because it gave her something to look at and b. because the sight of red on white had fascinated her for the past fifteen minutes and she somehow found herself incapable of letting it go lest she never see such colours again. She carried on staring at the tissue even when the door opened and he came inside; marching past her and straight to the office desk. Only when she was certain his back was to her did she look up. The receptionists’ reaction to his flustered entrance had been the same the past three times. Clearly they had grown used to it and, after the smashed vase incident, knew better than to confront him about it.  
As soon as he’d put the pen down, Effie’s gaze turned back to the red blooms on their bed of white. “Come on.” He growled. She winced, knowing what that voice held in store for her later. Nevertheless, she stood up and shrugged on her back pack, following him towards the door.  
“Mr Snow.” One of the receptionist’s called out once he was at a safe distance. He stopped, took a deep breath, and turned. “Yes?”  
“I’m afraid to say that if any more of these incidents occur, we are going to have to consider permanent exclusion. She is a disruption in class and a constant distraction for the other students. The headmistress wondered if you might consider a meeting with her? Or if Effie might? Perhaps there is something we can do to…”  
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll be sure to deal with it. But thank you.” He added with a forced smile. The stark red blooms blurred and Effie willed herself not to cry.  
“Very well. Good Afternoon, Mr Snow.”  
“And to you.” Ramsay called back, turning and letting himself out. Effie caught the door just in time before it slammed into her face. It was resistant to her pushes and by the time she was out, Ramsay was halfway across the car park. Effie never understood why he parked so far from the entrance. She crushed the tissue in her fist as the first cry went up. “Hey, look everyone! Effie Snow is going home _again_!” One kid called. As soon as Ramsay was in his car, they were all pressed up against the fence, shouting insults. Effie the slut. Effie the slag. Get-around. Whore. “Can never seem to make it through a whole school day. What’s the matter Eff? Too tired after your nights work?”  
It wasn’t the insults that hurt. It was that there was no one there to protect her from them. They wouldn’t dare to shout insults at her if they thought Ramsay could hear. But Ramsay was waiting for her in the car already, ignition on as though she were holding him back. “Why do you always park so far away?” Effie asked, shoving her school bag at her feet.  
“In the hope that you’ll stop getting into fights and getting me to pick you up.” Ramsay replied.  
“Oh yeah? How’s that plan working out for you so far?” She asked bitterly, staring at her reflection in the wing mirror. The blood had formed a crust around her nose. Had she really just walked past the entire school looking like _that_? Effie pressed the tissue against her nose and scrubbed violently, hoping to get some of the blood off.  
“Why have you still got that skanky tissue?” He sighed.  
“Well I’m saving it for later, you know, in case I’m punished and we can’t afford enough bog roll to stop the bleeding.”  
“You can never keep your mouth shut can you?” Ramsay growled back.  
“I get it from my dad.” She shrugged. It was her response for every time he asked her that. In truth, she’d never actually met her dad. Most likely he was some crack-head that had wound up dead in a ditch somewhere.  
“For fuck sake Eff. What am I supposed to do with you? Why can’t you just put up with school like a normal kid?”  
“Don’t bullshit me! _You_ didn’t.” She snapped, earning herself a smack on her knee. “Ow!”  
“You think that’s the end of it? Just wait until we get home.” Ramsay snarled. Slumping back into her seat, Effie resumed her watch over the wing mirror. When she saw him, it was instinctive for her to look away.  
Gendry Waters’ face was pressed in amongst everyone else’s as they watched them drive away. It still hurt seeing him around school. They had been friends since primary school. No one else wanted to mix with them because they were from the estate. He had been her only friend. Then they’d started secondary school, and the rumours had spread like the plague and he’d stopped hanging around with her. When she’d joined him and his mates at lunch, he would subtly try to get away from her. On the bus he’d tell her the seat was saved. Eventually he’d just left his bag on the seat so she couldn’t sit there. In the end, Effie had gotten the message and given up trying to be friends. He didn’t join in with the others when they taunted her but he didn’t stop them either. He’d just look away and pretend none of it happened. Effie wished he’d just join in. At least then she’d be able to bring herself to hate him.  
“The lads are coming around tonight.” Ramsay muttered, pulling out of the school gates.  
“Cool.” She shrugged casually. “Is…is Damon coming?”  
“Yes. Why?” He smirked knowingly.  
“Just wondering.”  
“I asked you why.” He pressed; sensing her discomfort and relishing it. “He the best is he?”  
“Fuck off!” Effie snapped. He struck her knee again. “Stop fucking swearing.” Effie rolled her eyes but even the pain in her knee couldn’t stop the smile that came to her lips.

As soon as they were in the apartment, Ramsay’s mobile rang. “Hey Skinner.” Effie carried on only to almost trip over her brother’s bitch. “Oh fuck off Jeyne.” She growled. The dog barked back. “You know you’re the ugliest fucking mutt the world has ever seen right? That’s why my brother named you after his ex.” The dog continued to attack her feet, oblivious to the insults. Eventually she made it to the living room while Ramsay spoke in the kitchen; mentally preparing herself for whatever punishment it would be this time. She hoped whatever Skinner was saying would calm him down a bit and she’d just get a beating. Removing her coat, she threw her bag onto the sofa and sat down beside it. Jeyne abandoned her attack and went back to her bed to begin plotting another; growling at her all the while. “The feeling is mutual.” Effie replied.  
The remote was in its usual place; stuffed down the side of the sofa with its loyal friends, crisp packet and cigarette ash.  Screwing her face up in disgust, she carried on digging until she reached it. Only to find that when she aimed it at the TV and pressed the power button, the screen remained blank. Rolling her eyes, Effie rolled over and reached for the lamp. That remained dead too. “Ramsay! Meter’s gone!” She yelled before even considering that could be the worst thing she could’ve done. Ramsay didn’t reply until his phone call ended. “What d’you say?”  
“We’ve run. Out of Money. On the meter.” She spelled out for him. He glared at her angrily until he took her meaning. “Oh fuck.” He muttered, running a hand through his dark hair. “Well, can you wait? I’ve got to go back to the garage.”  
“We have candles.” Effie grinned.  
“No. No candles.” He growled.  
“Fine. No candles.” Ramsay turned away and headed for the door. “Wait, what about my punishment?” She knew he wouldn’t forget, and if he wasn’t giving it to her now, that meant…  
“It’ll have to wait until later. I’m sure the guys can give me a hand.”  
“No way! Wait, please. Come on…it was only a few punches…Ramsay, please…” The door slamming shut was his only reply. “Fuck.” She hissed, slumping back onto the sofa and kicking off her shoes. Questions swam through her mind. Were they going out for a drink before they got here? When would they be back? Were they all coming?  
She hoped not.  
_But Damon is coming._ The thought alone made her stomach fill with butterflies and sent blood rushing to her cheeks. Giggling, she rolled onto the floor and reached for her school bag. Maybe she’d actually attempt to do some homework before the sun went and she had to rely on torch light.

Eventually she’d grown tired of insulting the dog. Doing homework had lost its charm way before that. It was around two o’clock when she stood up from the floor and grabbed her coat, not that she planned on going very far. “Chew anything and I’ll tear your fucking teeth out.” She warned Jeyne as she headed out the door. The dog growled a reply. “You heard me!” Effie called back, slamming the door. She checked twice to make sure she had locked it. If Ramsay came back to find their flat broken into she was fucked.  
Four steps to her right and she had arrived at her desired destination.  
“Mrs Hornwood?” She called through the letterbox after knocking. Effie stood up and knocked again; glancing side to side occasionally. If you saw someone you didn’t know who had a look you didn’t like, you ran. She had learnt that lesson long ago. Behind her there was a wall about a metre and a half high. Above that was nothingness; allowing you a stunning view of the car park, in which there were no cars because Ramsay was the only one with a job to pay for one.  
Effie checked again for any sign of miserable life. Fortunately, the level she was on remained empty except for two pigeons fighting over a chip.  
“Mrs Hornwood!” Despite the emptiness, Effie was relieved to hear the doddery shuffling from beyond the door.  
“Elizabeth? What a pleasure to see you!” Her name wasn’t actually Elizabeth. It was just Effie, but she had long ago given up trying to tell the woman otherwise. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”  
“It’s four o’clock Mrs Hornwood.” Effie lied.  
“Oh…is it really?”  
Effie nodded, “You must have nodded off again.”  
“Getting old is tiring you know.” Mrs Hornwood chuckled. “Come in, come in out of the cold.” Effie smiled brightly. It wasn’t actually cold at all, but Effie stepped inside. The smell that could only be described as ‘old people’ hit her immediately. Wrinkling her nose, she continued on until she reached the living room; taking a seat though uninvited to. She came around so often she’d stopped waiting for an invitation. Mrs Hornwood didn’t seem to mind.  
“How is your mother dear?” Mrs Hornwood shuffled in with a tray of tea which Effie already knew was stone cold. She was pretty sure the cups never changed either. “She’s fine Mrs Hornwood.” Effie replied, thanking her as she was handed a cup and saucer. The water was a tea stained brown, but thankfully there was no milk and no tea bag. Effie took a sip and did her best not to grimace.  
“That’s good. Still in the hospital?”  
“Yes, but she’s on the mend now.” Effie lied, staring down into the chipped cup.  
“Cancer. Terrible thing.” Mrs Hornwood sat down, shaking her head and muttering incoherently. She did not know what had made her think her mum had cancer, Effie couldn’t recall telling her so.  
_I wish she did._  
“So how is school going?” Effie told her the same bullshit she always did. That she was enjoying it. That she had great friends. That she was doing really well. That she had gotten the part in the school play. That she was joining the sports team. The lines were well rehearsed, all she needed to do was wait until Mrs Hornwood snared on something. Then the old woman would have her own story to tell and Effie’s life would be quite forgotten. She liked those moments best, and Mrs Hornwood wasn’t a bad story teller either, though Effie was certain she came up with as much bullshit as she herself did. At least Mrs Hornwood’s tales were interesting and like real stories; the kind you found in proper books.  
This visit was no exception.


	2. Filters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could be yours, I could be your baby tonight  
> Topple you down from your sky forty stories high  
> Shining like a God, can't believe I got you and so  
> Look at what I bought, not a second thought, oh, Romeo

It wasn’t until an hour and a half later that she finally had gotten her fill, stood up and said that she had homework to do. “Oh, of course you do! Silly old me, rambling on. Wait here, I’ll go and get your treats.” Mrs Hornwood stood up and bustled out of the lounge. Effie sank back onto the faded, flower-patterned sofa and listened as she shuffled around the kitchen, appearing a few moments later with a bar of chocolate, a packet of maltesers and three pound coins. Effie tried to hide the longing in her eyes and took the gifts as reluctantly as possible. “Really Mrs Hornwood, you shouldn’t…”  
“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re skinny as a rake. What does your brother do, starve you?”  
“No!” _He does his best._ The old woman smiled knowingly. “Just put them in that box I gave you. Keep them to yourself.”  
“Okay, thank you Mrs Hornwood.” Effie smiled back, the genuine gratitude lighting up her face until her blue eyes dazzled.   
“Off you go now love.” Mrs Hornwood did not kiss her. She never did, for which Effie was grateful. Perhaps she felt it was overstepping the mark, but Effie just didn’t want to think of her as family. Hornwood was the closest to a grandmother she’d ever had, but she didn’t want her to be. So far, most members of Effie’s family had been let downs, except Ramsay of course.  
Just before she left the old woman, she turned and said “The builders are in tonight, so if you hear any banging that’ll be it.”   
“Those builders! Anyone would think your brother were having the whole place torn out and done up. I should tell the council about him really…oh, never mind! Ok love, I’ll try to sleep through it.”  
“Thanks Mrs Hornwood.” Effie was certain she would have no trouble sleeping through it. At least she hoped she wouldn’t.

Once outside the old woman’s home, she made the short trip back to her own. In the space between her leaving the flat and visiting Mrs Hornwood, someone had written a nine after the number six on their door. “69. That’s original.” Effie muttered. Licking her thumb, she tried to wipe the writing off, knowing Ramsay would be livid if he saw it. But the ink wouldn’t budge. She pressed her nose to it and sniffed. “Fuck.” Sharpie. That was unusual. Most people around here spent so much time sniffing the pens that they dried out before you could do any damage with them. Besides, Sharpie pens were expensive. Clearly it had been a planned attack. “Shit.” She gave up trying to wipe it off and let herself in, spitting insults at Jeyne as she made her way towards her room, stripping as she went. Her school uniform was strewn across the floor in minutes and Effie continued on until she reached her cupboard; taking out the box that was hidden inside. It was only a small box with a picture of a white horse cantering across a beach on top. Effie hated horses, ever since she had fallen off that one at the school fair. She had begged her brother for ages to let her have a go, even though it would have meant they couldn’t afford to do anything else there. She’d promised to do anything if he let her have just one go on the horse, so Ramsay had given in. The horse was a big ginger beast, but he had been gentle enough and she had been having the time of her life, right up until Ramsay had popped the balloon she’d won and made the horse freak out. It had galloped away from its handler and Effie was off within seconds. “Still want to ride horses?” He’d asked once he’d reached her. No. She did not and had not been near one ever since. Yet Mrs Hornwood had somehow come to the conclusion she loved them and so had bought it for her at a bootsale. She quickly emptied the chocolate into the box. It wasn’t the only thing in there; there was still chocolate and sweets from last week along with a tiny teddy bear and a small pouch containing some pearl earrings. Both were gifts from Ramsay.  
When she was little, she had taken to collecting the filters Ramsay needed for his fags. Just the ones he had left lying around, she didn’t steal them or anything. There was no reason for this collection, she’d just wanted something that belonged to her. Had she had the box at the time, the precious filters would have been safely hidden. But Ramsay had found out because she’d had nowhere better to hide them than her coat pocket. He had found them all when washing her coat. As punishment, she was left in her room for a day and a night without food. He’d threatened to make her eat the filters but relented after she’d begged him not to. Instead, he forgave her and let her out of her room. He made her a supper of beans on toast; letting her eat in front of the TV while they watched Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone.  
She had been seven years old then and had since learnt not to take anything that might be Ramsay’s. So the box was reserved for things she knew were hers. Gifts or small things she had bought with her own money. Effie had not kept any gifts from her mother though, not that there were many. There had been a silver bracelet, which she had given Ramsay to pawn for food when they had first left home. It had probably been stolen anyway.  
Effie stared down at her hand; now empty but for the three pound coins. _I should save them_. Effie almost laughed aloud. Ramsay might not have found the box, but he had an amazing nose that could pick up the scent of money.  
Dressing quickly in the only clothes that were clean, Effie reminded herself to tell Ramsay a trip to the launderette was due. Her t-shirt dress stopped mid-thigh; revealing scrawny legs and knobbly knees. She pulled on a pair of tights, ignoring the holes and ladders. “The stairway to heaven.” Damon’s words made her laugh to herself. The reflection in the mirror leaning against the far wall showed someone a lot older than fourteen years. She could put make up on too, but quickly relented. She was running low on foundation as it was and would need to save it if they went out for the night. Besides, the guy she wanted to look good for was at work in the little farm shop just outside of town, where Ben kept his dogs to sell. It wasn’t anywhere near as pleasant as it sounded. The farm animals were half starved, all waiting longingly for the bullet. Then came the butchers or the glue factory.  
Effie could go and see the men, but three pounds wasn’t enough for a return bus ticket and Ramsay might be angry if she went without telling him. She could probably convince Ben and Damon not to tell if she promised them a favour. But Myranda would tell for sure. That bitch had it in for her. Oddly, Ramsay’s girlfriend seemed to be jealous of her. Effie found that hilarious. If she wanted to be her mother’s daughter then she was welcome to it. Effie wouldn’t mind working on the farm or with the dogs. She liked dogs, with the exception of Jeyne.  
Her stomach was the one to voice its opinion on where they should go. She hadn’t eaten since her bowl of cereal that morning and the chances were that Ramsay wouldn’t be back until late, and the guys would be with him. She would cook her own meal if the electricity hadn’t run out.  
Grabbing her coat and pocketing the money, Effie headed back out. Jeyne growled as she passed. Effie growled back.  
“Fuckers.” Effie spat at the ‘69’ on her door. Crossing her arms, she quickly checked to see if the coast was clear before heading away from the shit-hole she called home.

There were two options as to where she could get food from, but the grill was closer so she headed there.  
She soon wished she hadn’t.  
Effie heard him first before she saw him and by the time it had all registered and she could turn herself around, it was too late.  
“Oh here we go, it’s Effie Snow!” Theon Greyjoy’s face split in half as he grinned at her. She wished it were being split in half by other means. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around. They would laugh at her no matter what, but the thought of them laughing at her retreat seemed the more humiliating option.  
“What’s up with you? Why so moody?” He asked her as she passed.  
“Fuck you Greyjoy.” She hissed.  
“If you insist.” He grinned and his mates began to laugh. Effie’s cheeks turned red but that didn’t stop her from turning around. “What are you doing so far inland Greyjoy? Did the doctor send you away to stop the chlamydia from spreading? Or is your father just too fucking sick of your smug face?” The smile slid away from Theon’s face as she hit the nerve hard.  
“Why are your knickers in such a twist, slut?” His mate, Stygg, growled.  
“Someone’s on their period.” Another laughed.  
Effie continued to glare at Theon. Theon glared back.  
“Better run back to your brother, little whore.” Dagmer appeared from within the grill. He was the biggest of the lot, and the oldest, and the scariest.  
Effie immediately turned away, suddenly aware of how many there where. Hurrying down the street, she did her best to ignore the laughter behind her.  
Despite the fact he didn’t actually come from around here, Theon Greyjoy was very popular. His family were known drug smugglers, so he always had something to offer at a party or the club. He was rich too and would buy anyone a beer. What’s more, he was charming and handsome and despite the fact he never called girls after he was done with them, they still seemed willing to jump into bed with him again anyways.   
So Effie had been shocked one day when he had offered her a lift to school. She’d stood at the bus stop, staring at him, mouth agape in stunned disbelief. Theon Greyjoy. The guy whom all guys wanted to be and all girls wanted to be with. She had gotten into the car with him and, after a little while, they began to speak. Not about anything in particular. Effie deplored his taste in music and he defended it valiantly. When they reached school, everyone had stopped and stared at the car they all recognised. It was their turn for their jaws to drop as Effie stepped out, smiling and thanking him for the lift.  
He had given her a lift the day after. And the day after that too. He kept giving her lifts to school. They never _did_ anything. They just talked and it was nice and Effie began to think she had found a friend.  
Then rumours began to fly around like an angry swarm of wasps. That Effie was fucking Theon Greyjoy. That wasn’t the worst part, half the school had fucked Theon Greyjoy. But then people began saying that she had begged him for it. That she was relentless. That he had to shove his prick in her mouth just to stop her begging. That he’d given her pity sex. That he’d found her the loosest little slut he’d ever had. That he had kept shagging her because he felt _sorry_ for her.  
After PE, Effie had returned to find that someone had written ‘slut’ in big capital letters on the back of her school shirt. It wouldn’t have been so bad had someone not set fire to her blazer too; meaning that there was nothing she could use to cover it. She found them all gathered around her burning blazer in the showers; Kyra, Pia and Ami, were the ones closest. The rest were just gathered around, laughing. They all fell silent when they saw her. “Well look who it is! Effie the slut!” Kyra smiled sweetly. The other girls giggled nervously. “Give us a twirl Effie! We want to see what your shirt says!” The laughter grew. Effie duly turned and glanced over her shoulder. “Hm. Looks like your handwriting Pia. Did someone have to tell you how to spell it or have your extra one to one sessions been paying off?”   
Of course, that had led to a punch up. With three against one, Effie had come out on the losing side. “That’ll teach you to keep your mouth shut, slag!” Ami had called as the crowd dispersed. Effie had smiled to herself, wincing at the pain in her lip. “I get it…from my father.” She’d croaked, though there was no one left to hear.  
Theon had stopped picking her up after that.  
Eventually, she’d come to understand. It had all been a plan. Ramsay was dating Jeyne at that time and Jeyne had been Theon’s girlfriend first. Until he’d cheated on her. Then she’d started going out with Ramsay. Theon wanted to get him back so he’d targeted Effie. But Effie never told Ramsay about it, and thankfully he had never found out. Gang fights and feuds were not uncommon around the estate, but the Greyjoy’s were not the gang she wanted Ramsay to mess with. There were a lot of them, for a start. They also had more money and more training. Effie couldn’t afford to lose her brother. If the Greyjoy’s killed him, no doubt she would be taken into the gang to be used as they saw fit.  
Had it just been Theon, Ramsay would have dealt with him and maybe no one would dare to call her names. But Effie didn’t want to risk it. She endured; she was good at that.

Effie ate her chips and drank her coke in the abandoned and overgrown tennis court. No one went in there anymore during the day, and it was hidden from sight so it was usually where the druggies convened at night. The sun shone down and she was enjoying the peace and quiet; though at the back of her mind, she kept reminding herself that she needed to go home and get herself ready. When she could put it off no longer, she stood up and began the journey home. She’d had to go to the chip shop at the other side of town because of Theon Greyjoy so it took her a long while to get home. When she noticed crowds of school kids gathering the streets, she began to hurry. Coming across someone from school was the last thing she needed today. The thought of coming across either Kyra, Ami or Pia caused her breathing to become a little sharper. No one was particular nice to her, but those three were the worst. They said the worst things and weren’t afraid to throw a punch if they felt she deserved it. Plus, they were popular. Kyra and Pia were the pretty ones. Ami just sort of clung to them because then no one dared to point out her lack of a chin. No one but Effie who could never keep her mouth shut, especially when she was angry. And the sight of their faces always made her angry.  
Fortunately, she made it home without so much as seeing a familiar face. Ramsay still wasn’t home and the fact the light in the hallway still refused to turn on suggested he hadn’t been back and the meter was still out. She probably had a few hours until they got back and by the time they were home it would be dark. Effie went into the kitchen and found the torch before retreating to her room to prepare herself for the night ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It won't all be from Effie's perspective. The next chapter will feature Ramsay and 'the lads' (and Myranda, of course, woop-de-fucking-woop)


	3. Searching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's dance to joy division,  
> And celebrate the irony,  
> Everything is going wrong,  
> But we're so happy,

“What the fuck?” Ramsay growled. He pulled the fag out of his mouth and licked his hand, slamming it against the nine. The ink didn’t budge. “Oh man…look at that!” Skinner laughed. Ramsay turned around and glared at him, chasing the amusement from his face.  
They all held their breaths.  
Ramsay laughed. “Fucking cunts.” He shrugged, taking another pull of his fag before opening the door. “Go through boys, I’ll just fill the meter up.” They continued on through the darkness and into even more darkness.   
“Fucking hell Rams. It’s fucking freezing in here!” Dick called.  
“Feel free to ring the council for me then mate!” He yelled back, inserting the stick and grinning as the light came on in the hallway; bathing him in its dim, dreary glory. Yanking his coat off, he joined the others in the living room. Skinner, Dick and Luton were already stretched across the threadbare sofa. Ben Bones sat near Jeyne. Grunt and Alyn were slumped against the wall; Alyn’s head lolled back and his mouth gaped open. “You know, considering how bad his breath is, you’d think he’d be able to handle a beer or two.” Skinner laughed.  
“It wasn’t just beer you cunt.” Alyn moaned, his head rolling forward.  
“No one forced you to order those jagers.”  
“And no one said you had to drink them all yourself.” Luton muttered irritably. Ramsay chuckled. “Should have saved your money mate.” He leant down and squeezed Sour Alyn’s shoulder, probably a little harder than he needed to, but Alyn could take it.  
“Effie!” Ramsay bellowed, standing up quickly and turning to face her bedroom door. There was a moment’s silence before it creaked open and she stepped out, almost timidly. She wore bed socks and an old, over-sized shirt. That was all. Ramsay couldn’t tell if she had any underwear on. She twiddled her brown hair around her fingers. He found that oddly endearing. Her knees turned in towards each other too; scrawny and bird-like.  
There was something oddly sensual about her fragility, and he knew he was not the only one to see it. It wasn’t just her scrawny, pubescent body either. Her eyes were big and the brightest blue. Her nose turned up slightly, giving her deer-like features. Then there was the impish grin. That smile that looked like she knew the world’s biggest secret, and it was all hers.  
“Come here, sweetheart.” He cooed, slumping down in the sagging armchair. The blue eyes darted around, searching desperately. Ramsay was aware of who she was looking for, but it still irritated him. “Do I have to ask for a second time sis? You know I don’t like asking for a second time.” He warned.  
Without so much as glancing at the others, Effie padded over until she stood in front of him. Staring down, her impish smile was gone, replaced instead by trembling lips. “What is it Eff? You afraid or something?” He asked, taking her hand.  
“No.” She almost spat the word back, but he didn’t scold her for it. He liked that fire in her. It reminded him she was still his little sister.  
“Good. You’re wearing pants, right?” Effie hiked her shirt up to reveal a pair of worn, grey underpants. “Good girl. I told you we’d punish you when we got back, didn’t I?” Effie never even looked away from him. She just sighed and resigned herself to her fate. “Over my knee Eff.” He commanded, pushing his fag into the ash tray. Effie knelt and slung herself over his knee, lifting the shirt over her arse as well. He let her keep her pants on. It would dull the bruising and he couldn't afford to have them see it at school.  
“Skinner. Belt.” He barked. Effie’s head rotated around, still searching. He grabbed her hair roughly. “Looking for someone?”  
“Nope.” She replied bluntly, grunting as he shoved her head back down.  
“How many times did you punch the girl Eff?”  
“Nine.” He could detect no lie in her voice and nodded to Skinner to start. She squirmed and flinched with every strike, but did not try to run away or beg them to stop. She endured until the last strike was done with. As soon as it was done, Ramsay pulled her shirt back down over her pants himself and kissed her head gently. “Well done.” He whispered. Effie slid off of his lap and stood up, though he couldn’t help but notice her knees trembled slightly. She stared down at him, and continued staring down as he rolled another fag. “Wha-?” He mumbled, fag poised between his lips.  
“Are you really going to make me ask?” Effie’s tone was incredulous, her face pulled and angry.  
“Ask what Eff?” He spread out his arms. When she didn’t answer, he lit the roll up. “Un-fucking-believable.” Effie rolled her eyes and moved away from him, back to her room.  
“What did I tell you about swearing?” He yelled at the bedroom door as it closed. Ramsay glared at it, willing it to open, but he thought better of going after her. “Fucking women.” One of the boys laughed.  
“Fucking teenagers.” He muttered to himself after a pull.  
“Oi young ‘un! Don’t go getting’ hypocritical now!” He had forgotten how close Ben was to him.  
“Fuck off Ben, like you even know what hypocritical means.”  
“I know more than you, kid.” Old Ben croaked, smiling his old smile. Ramsay rolled his eyes and took another pull. “What are you now, seventeen?”  
“Does it matter? Age is just a number.” Ramsay smirked.  
“It’s knowledge too.”  
“I know all I need, but thanks. If I’m ever stuck on a crossword puzzle, I’ll be sure to ring up the dog breeder.” Ramsay tried not to let the irritation come through in his voice. Ben meant well. He was like the dad of the gang sometimes. But, as Ramsay was well aware, dads could be total dicks.  
“I need a beer.” Skinner grumbled.  
“Well you’ll have to fucking wait, won’t you? Damon said he and Myranda would bring some.”  
“Damon and Myranda, eh?” Luton raised an eyebrow.  
“Oi, don’t talk like that. She’s mine you fucktard.” Ramsay growled at him.  
“Excuse me, don’t talk about a daughter like that while her dad’s in the room.” Ben snarled back.  
“She ain’t your daughter though is she? Mug like you couldn’t spawn something pretty like her.” Alyn joked.  
“Ah you’re right. It was her mum’s work. Package deal, sadly.” Ben grinned. Ramsay did his best to tune out. All the talk about parents was pissing him off. Skinner was right, beer was needed. Fortunately, his wish was heard.   
“Evening wankers!” Damon yelled out by way of greeting.  
“Fuck off you posh twat!” Skinner shouted back, grinning.  
“Less of the posh you cunt.” Damon appeared in the doorway, looking less than posh. They only called him that because he came from the country and had a Harrington jacket and still lived with his mum, who was the richest milf Ramsay knew, and he went to college. He didn’t even talk posh.   
“You better have brought beers posh.”   
“Indeed I have, and…” An arm appeared over his shoulder.  
“Weed!” Myranda sang, pushing past Damon and leaping onto Ramsay’s lap. Good thing she was so skinny, otherwise the force of it would have hurt more. Ramsay could smell the beer on her breath as her tongue plunged into his mouth hungrily.  
“Wanna kiss from me as well?” Damon laughed, handing around cans of beer and leaning in when he reached Ramsay. Pulling away from Myranda, he shoved his friend back. “I’m alright you faggot.” He chuckled, taking a beer and hooking an arm around Myranda. “What’s with the 69? Thought I’d got the wrong flat.” Damon moved away, taking off his precious Harrington and folding it up neatly.  
“Kids being dicks, that’s all.” Ramsay muttered.   
“Right. What’s say we put some music on? Get this party started yeah?” Damon swaggered away and pulled out his phone, plugging it into the speakers.   
“Yeah.” Ramsay offered Myranda a pull on his fag. “Let’s get it started.” Myranda exhaled before climbing onto him and straddling his hips, apparently unaware that her step-father sat just five feet away.

The room was thick with smoke and the scent of…well…a mixture of things. Myranda was dancing with Skinner, Dick and Alyn. Ben was asleep on Jeyne’s bed, with Jeyne curled up next to him. Luton, Damon and Grunt were all stretched out on the sofa, somehow all managing to fit. Ramsay hadn’t moved; the weed having made his head muggy and the alcohol making his limbs slow.  
From somewhere amongst the smoke, one of them groaned. “You know what I need now?” Ramsay blinked and narrowed his eyes, trying to work out who it was. Luton, maybe?  
“What?” He asked; eyes suddenly distracted by the lightbulb suspended above them.  
“A girl. Fuck…I need a fuck…” It was the same voice, but more joined him, murmuring in agreement. Ramsay blinked three more times until his head had cleared slightly, then he leaned forward and got down on all fours, crawling to the centre of the room. “Right then you fuckers, pennies in.” He ordered. Skinner, Luton, Alyn, Grunt, Dick and Damon joined him.  
“Not you Ben?” Ben shook his head.  
“I’m a married man, kid.”  
“Hasn’t stopped you before.” Myranda scoffed. They were both too fucked to start an argument.  
“Right, who’s got what?” Ramsay continued.  
“Twenty.” Alyn pulled the note out of his pocket.  
“Twenty? Twenty fucking quid? That’s it?” Ramsay growled. Alyn shrugged. “Look man, I can pay you back…like, later yeah?”  
“No way you prick, you know it doesn’t work like that.” He shoved the hand with the twenty clasped tightly away irritably. “What about you?” He asked, turning to Luton. Luton glanced around, slightly anxious, before pulling out five ten pound notes. Ramsay rolled his eyes.  
“Two fifty.” Damon laughed that doped up laugh.  
“What?” Ramsay slowly turned to face him. Damon grinned and pulled the notes out, placing each one onto the carpet one at a time. “Two hundred and fifty English pounds. Doesn’t queenie look chuffed?” He laughed again. They all stared at him, dope eyed and open mouthed.  
“Where the fuck did you get all that?” Dick gasped, staring at the money as though it were three newly hatched dragons.  
“Won the lottery didn’t I?” He laughed as though it were the funniest thing in the world.  
“That’s bullshit. Seriously Damon, where did you get it?” Ramsay asked, one eye on his friend, the other on the money. Damon stopped smiling and wiped his nose, each move a little sharper than the last. “I…err…I sold a bit of pot to someone.”  
“What?” Ramsay’s look darkened.  
“I sold a bit of weed alright, what’s the big deal?” Damon shrugged, reaching for his rizzlers and tobacco and beginning to roll up another fag; his fingers trembled a little.  
“You dealed so you could fuck my sister? You think I’m going to let you pay with drug money?” Ramsay’s voice could be heard over the music and even Myranda stopped dancing. They all fell silent, holding their breaths and waiting for the first blow to be dealt. Damon abandoned his attempt to light his roll up and waited along with them.  
“You’re damn fucking right I will.” Ramsay broke into laughter and snatched the money up off the carpet. “Skinner, go down to the shop and get us a bottle of vodka or something.” Ramsay thrust a twenty in his direction, then he turned back to Damon.  
“Go on, get in there. You better make your money worthwhile.” Damon was stood up even before he’d finished the sentence, dropping his unlit cigarette.  
“Cheers man.” He grinned, slapping Ramsay on the shoulder before heading towards Effie’s room. Once he’d gone, the others stood up and branched off back to their places. “Posh cunt.” Skinner mumbled as he made his way out, twenty pounds held tight in his fist. Ramsay didn’t move for a moment, continuing to watch Eff’s bedroom door.  
_“He the best is he?”_  
“Fuck off.”  
She had tried to turn away before he saw it, but he had seen it. Effie had smiled because Damon was coming. She had searched about for him earlier and had tried to ask Ramsay where he was without actually asking.  
Ramsay smiled. If Damon made her happy then that was fine. He could satisfy her, she could be happy, and Ramsay could get the money. Not that he’d tell Eff about that.  
“C’mon Mr Boring.” Myranda giggled in his ear, her hand appearing on his shoulder and skimming down over his chest. “I want to fuck you.” She whispered. Ramsay turned his head around and let her tongue slide into his mouth again, all thoughts of Effie and Damon swiftly fading from his mind.


	4. Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Being a mistress on the side,  
> It might not appear to fools like you.  
> Creeping around on the side  
> Might not be somethin' you would do.

The streetlight cast just enough light into the room, but Effie was sure that even in darkness, she would still feel the difference between inked skin and clean skin. She had felt this skin so many times, surely she’d know the difference. Even now, when she closed her eyes and ran her digits over the flesh that covered his ribcage, she could draw out the pattern of it.  
“Why?” She asked, her voice slightly dry from fatigue.  
“What?” He asked, tilting his head forward onto his chest to look at her.  
“Why a cross?” She smiled then, her face so close to his skin that her exposed teeth skimmed over the surface of him. Damon sank his head back down into her pillow, his body lifting as he shrugged. “I dunno. It looked cool.” Effie used her elbows and knees to crawl up and lay beside him. Her heart pounded as his arm slid around her shoulders, holding her to him. Their bodies had both cooled down slightly but he was still warm and she couldn’t stop herself from burrowing into him. She worried for a second that it might seem needy or clingy, but Damon said nothing about it.  
“Is that my shirt?” Effie glanced up at him to see his eyes trained on the crumpled shirt that had been very quickly discarded earlier.  
“Um…yeah?” Damon just chuckled and Effie breathed a sigh of relief.  
“You seemed surprised to see me today. Were you hoping for someone else?”  
“No!” Her head snapped up in sudden panic, then her cheeks burned red. She prayed the streetlights weren’t enough to show her blushing. Damon started to laugh and raised an eyebrow quizzically. “I just…when I went out there earlier you weren’t there, and I thought…I thought maybe…”  
“I wasn’t coming?”  
“Yeah.” Effie looked away, embarrassed. Damon reached out and forced her head back around so he could look at her. “Well I’m here now.” He grinned that boyish grin that made her heart flutter. “Just had to go get some stuff with Myranda first.”  
“Myranda?” She couldn’t help but ask.  
“Aw, you jealous?” He joked. Effie twisted a nipple until he cried out. “It’s my bed you’re in.” She growled, proud of her brazenness. Damon laughed at her again, but this time she laughed too and rested her head back down on his arm. “So why did you go outside?” She understood why it might have seemed weird. It was unusual for her to go outside her room when Ramsay had his friends over, unless she was told to come out.  
“Yeah I…Ramsay needed to punish me…”  
“What for?” His arm tightened slightly.  
“I got sent home from school early. Got into a fight.” She felt the mattress shift as Damon rolled onto his side to face her, squirming until they were face to face; pushed together in her single bed. Effie held her breath, suddenly wondering if her breath might smell.  
 _For fuck sake you just had sex with him, I think he’d know by now of you had bad breath._  
“What happened?” He asked softly, pushing a lock of hair out of her face.  
“It was…well, you know that thing Skinner makes me do with a knife sometimes?”  
“Yeah.” Damon’s look darkened slightly.  
“Well…he must have filmed it or taken a picture of it or something because his little brother saw it. His little brother is in the year above me but…he must have told his mates or something…and...and then one of his mates, he’s dating that girl I told you about, Pia, and he must have told her about it. She found me in the playground and told everyone about it. Then she tried to get me to admit it, so I punched her in the face.”  
“Just the one time?”  
“No. Multiple. They just…they piss me off. They call me a slut and a whore, and it’s not like I can say it isn’t true because it is! I’ve probably been with more guys than Ami!” And then she was angry. The fact she couldn’t deny any of it. The fact that they were all right.

“Effie, you aren’t a slut, or a whore.” Damon seemed to shift a bit closer.  
“No…whores get paid right?” Effie rolled her eyes melodramatically. “I get loads of guys in my bed and I don’t even get paid for it.” She laughed. Damon chuckled softly.  
“Skinner shouldn’t have taken those photos, or a video. Ramsay told…he just shouldn’t do it, okay? Do you want me to stop him from making you do the thing with the knife too?”  
“No.” Damon looked puzzled for a moment. “No, because I don’t want Skinner at all. I don’t want anyone. I…I just want you, Damon…only you…” It were as though she were throwing the words up. Once she had begun, she couldn’t stop. “Can’t you make it so it’s just you? I know that sometimes Ramsay sends them in, that he wants me to…”  
“No, no it’s not Ramsay’s choice Eff. Don’t blame him.” Damon argued.  
“I don’t! I could never blame him, for anything. Not ever. I just…” _I want them to leave me alone._  
“Okay. I’ll try and make sure it’s just me from now on, okay?” Effie smiled gratefully and Damon smiled back. He moved in to kiss her, but she flinched away. He pulled back, frowning.  
“I’m sorry, I just…” She stared at his parted lips, unable to look him in the eye. “You _do_ love me, don’t you Damon?” It was not the first time she had asked him that.  
It sounded cheesy. It was the kind of things said in films. Things said right at the very end, right before the hero lifted the heroine up and said “Yes” and “always and forever” and then they kissed and the camera backs away from them, assuring the audience that the story was done and that they would live happily, for ever and ever.  
“Roll over Eff.” He whispered. That had always been his reply too. After a moment, she did. “Let me show you.”  
_Show me what? That you love me?_  
Before she could ask, his hand slid across her thigh and she felt his finger press against that sweet spot. Any hope for an answer was lost as Damon’s lips busied themselves by planting hungry kisses on her neck. Effie was unable to probe any further as the words slipped from her mind, replaced by desperate begging and incoherent moans.  
How weak she was.

Effie woke up to an empty bed and a rhythmic pounding coming from the room next door to hers. “Oh no.” She groaned.  
“Oh yes!” Myranda moaned back.  
Effie reached out and checked the time on her phone, groaning again. “It’s ten past six in the fucking morning!” She yelled. Myranda carried on regardless.  
“Oh yes Ramsay…oh…just there…yes yes yes!”  
“No no NO!” Effie growled, throwing back the covers and clambering out of bed, oblivious to the familiar dull ache and slickness between her thighs. She vaguely remembered the mattress shifting as Damon had gotten out of bed. Perhaps he had wanted to get to work early.  
Clearly Myranda did not share the same concern.  
“Fuck Ramsay…oh god…right there…just like that! Yes! Oh yes!”  
“I swear to god…shove your cock in her mouth Rams before she wakes up the entire estate.” Effie muttered as she pulled on a fresh pair of pants and put on her bra.  
None of Ramsay’s other girlfriends had been quite as loud, but then again none of them had been anything like Myranda. She was a total fucking psycho, but Ramsay seemed to like that. Myranda was also as jealous as she was mental. She didn’t even like Effie being around him, despite the fact they were brother and sister and Effie couldn’t help the fact they lived in the same flat. Effie did try to get along with her, for Ramsay’s sake, but Myranda seemed to be quite happy with the uncomfortable tension that filled the room whenever they were together. Then Effie would open her mouth and say the wrong thing like she always did and, though involuntarily, begin an argument. She could proudly say she was a lot smarter than Myranda, but if Ramsay wasn’t there, she was pretty sure nothing would stop Myranda from knocking her teeth out.  
“Oh Ramsay! Harder! Fuck yes! Harder!” She even sounded angry when she was fucking.  
Even in the lounge, Effie could still hear her as well as the rhythmic banging caused by the headboard slamming into the wall.  
“Fucking builders.”  
With the amount of mould on the walls it was a wonder Ramsay’s bed hadn’t ended up in Mrs Hornwood’s room  
Jeyne didn’t look all too happy about the noise either. “At least we can agree on something.” Effie mused. Jeyne bared her teeth and her growl was just about audible over Myranda’s incessant moaning. “Maybe not.”  
Effie paused to listen as Myranda reached her climax. “Yes yes yesss! Oh Ramsay…”  
“…where did you learn to do that?” Effie finished with her, continuing on to the kitchen, although she could still hear Myranda’s moaning, like when you’ve killed a mosquito but can still hear it buzzing.  
It wasn’t until she’d sat down and started eating her granola that Ramsay’s bedroom door opened and Myranda stepped out, closing the door behind her. Effie looked away quickly to pretend she was not aware of her existence. To her delight, Myranda made her way to the kitchen, humming contentedly. Then she made a high-pitched ‘humph’ noise, suggesting that something had disconcerted her.  
“What?” Effie just couldn’t help herself.  
“Classy. A bowl of granola in Snoopy knickers and an old Winnie the Pooh bra.” Myranda continued humming while making coffee.  
“You’re at the height of elegance yourself ‘Randa. Shaky knees, chapped lips and…” Effie threw herself to the floor. “I knew it. No underwear.” She grinned up at the thunderous expression. “Is that Ramsay’s cum or yours dripping down your leg?”  
“Fuck off you little pervert.” Myranda squealed irritably.  
“Oh please, if there’s something I haven’t seen before I’ll throw a pound at it…if I had one.” She didn’t.  
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” Myranda asked, slamming the fridge door, wordlessly telling Effie that she had succeeded in getting under her skin.  
“It’s quarter past six. Ramsay should be getting ready for work.”  
Myranda giggled. “Ramsay won’t be going anywhere for a while.” She did that weird thing with her eyes where they widened a bit. She really was a total psycho.  
“Believe me Myranda, you really aren’t _that_ good. Luton told me.”  
“WHAT?”  
Effie grinned through a mouthful of cereal. It wasn’t a total lie. Luton had just said Myranda wasn’t as good as she was.  
“Fuck you Eff.” Myranda growled.  
“Don’t call me Eff.” Effie snarled back. That was her pet name and she hated it when someone she didn’t like called her that.  
“Whatever. Anyway, Ramsay won’t be going to work today because he’s…a little tied up.”  
Milk sprayed out of her nose as she almost choked on her granola.  
“Jesus…you better fucking untie him. He needs to work or we’ll be eating you for the next week, and I can’t imagine you tasting all that great.”  
“I don’t think you’ll be short of money this week.” Myranda smiled that ‘oops-I-know-more-than-you-so-I-said-that-even-though-I-shouldn’t-have’ smile. Effie pushed her bowl away and stood up. “As you and my brother seem to be playing mums and dads, I’ll leave you to wash that up.”  
“Your mum tied your dad up?”  
“No.” _But maybe she should have._ Not wanting to think about it, Effie began to move away.  
“Oi, don’t you fucking dare Eff!”  
Eff picked up the bowl, smiled her own wicked smile, and dropped it. It landed on the floor with a satisfying crash. “I’d clean that up if I were you. And you’d better hope Ramsay doesn’t get bored in there. You remember what happens to girls who bore him, right?”  
When she was certain that all the blood had drained from Myranda’s face, Effie turned away and headed back to her room to get ready for school.

Of course, by now, the entire school had learnt more about the whole knife thing than they had algebra. As much as she would have liked to, Effie was unable to punch every student in the face, so she ignored the taunts and the name-calling and hid in the library at lunch and break time, pretending to be doing homework but actually drawing out her list; each student appearing in voodoo doll form. Perhaps someone would see them and think her a witch, or just crazy, and spread that rumour and leave her alone. If only.  
She made it through the whole day but by fifth period she was exhausted. The night’s exertions had taken their toll and her head was lolling, her arm threatening to give way beneath it. Falling asleep on the bus would be the death of her social life, not that she had one but it would be even harder to go to school each day. Effie would wake up and find herself tattooed with unrealistic cock and balls, and knives too probably. So she did her best to stay awake, despite how long the journey seemed.

Effie was relieved to see the 6(9) of their flat. That relief was soon replaced by terror when she realised the door was unlocked. She quickly checked to see if Ramsay’s car was in the car park, hoping he had come home from work early (or that he was still tied to the bed). There was a car there but it wasn’t Ramsay’s. It wasn’t a car she recognised either, and it certainly wasn’t the type you saw around here often. Effie would bet good money that by the time the car owner came back he would find himself without a car.  
Or maybe the owner of the car was doing some thieving themselves.  
Effie turned back to the unlocked door. There was no sign of a forced entry, but they could have picked the lock.  
_I could go to Mrs Hornwood’s and wait for Ramsay to come home._  
“Don’t be such a pussy.” She scolded herself out loud. Her hand still shook as she reached out and pushed the door open.  
“Ramsay? R…Ramsay, are you home?” She called. Effie stood still until she heard voices coming from the lounge. “That’s my sister.” It was Ramsay’s voice for sure. Relief flooded through her and Effie almost ran to the lounge, restraining herself just enough so that she was just walking quickly instead. “Ramsay?” He was on the sofa, but he didn’t look at her. His eyes were instead fixed on the figure in the armchair.  
The man looked incredibly out of place in their home. Firstly, he wore a suit, which he was subtly trying not to get dirty as he hadn’t settled back into the chair (which, despite its drab appearance, was pretty comfy). In his pale hands was a chipped mug of tea, though he seemed to have drunk little of it; instead using his finger to absent-mindedly wipe away a stubborn lipstick stain, no doubt a memento from Myranda.  
The man himself was a stranger to Effie. He looked middle-aged, with thinning hair and a receding hair line. His nose was broad and flat but it was his eyes that demanded her attention. The stranger was watching her. No. The stranger was _searching_ her; peeling her skin back layer by layer.  
He frightened her, but that was what he seemed to want.  
“Go to your room.” Ramsay’s voice broke through the layer of ice that had formed. Effie glanced over at him. Ramsay’s eyes were on her now and they were just as cold and mean. They made her shiver.  
“Do I have to ask a second time?” He growled. Effie swallowed nervously. Her mouth seemed as dry as sand paper. “No.” She shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. Effie kept her eye on the stranger as she passed him, like she would a dog that looked as though it might attack. Her feet felt like stone, her limbs like wood as she shuffled towards her room. She could still feel his eyes beneath her skin. Once inside her room, she bit down on her clenched fist to muffle her sobbing.  
The stranger.  
Things like this had happened before About five times to be exact. When Ramsay owed someone and couldn’t pay and he had to please them through other means. They would turn up at the door, red faced and loud mouthed. Effie would be sent to her room. And there she would wait until her bedroom door opened and the stranger would stumble in, reeking of beer. When she had gained more experience, she had tried to please them like she did Ramsay’s friends.  
But they didn’t want pleasing.  
They would still be angry that Ramsay had cheated them, but they knew better than to take it out on him. Instead they took it out on the set of satisfying holes they shoved themselves into; the little girl on the bed that endured without complaint.  
Effie stumbled away from the door and threw herself onto the bed, desperately trying to pull herself together. It would just be the one time, and they never cared if she closed her eyes. All she needed to do was lie there. Then when the stranger was gone, Ramsay would come in and carry her to the bathroom where he would clean her off and wash away the blood. Then he’d put her to bed and stay in her room, sitting on the floor, until she fell asleep. When she woke up, he’d have a cooked breakfast ready. He’d put it down in front of her, kiss her head and tell her he was sorry. He wouldn’t be able to look her in the eye, even if Effie told him to. She didn’t blame him. It must be hard for him to sit in the lounge or in his room and listen. The walls were thin in their flat.  
Now another stranger was sitting in their lounge, waiting for his turn with the little girl on the bed. Effie tried to listen to their conversation, but the stranger’s voice was so soft and quiet and Effie was so tired that it wasn’t long before the muffled tones lulled her to sleep.


	5. Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're up there in your room with all your demons  
> I'm down here in the kitchen with my plans  
> Been sitting here thinking   
> what is it you're inking on your hands, on your hands

It was weird seeing his father here and it made him feel uncomfortable. His home didn’t look like much, no doubt it looked like a total shit-hole to him. It made him look inadequate. Ramsay wasn’t house-proud by any means, but he didn’t want to look useless.  
“Why are you here?” He asked rudely. The question had been nagging at him the moment Roose Bolton’s car pulled up at Skinner’s garage. He had guessed he wasn’t there to have his car fixed (the thing was in mint condition).  
When Ramsay had been really young, before Effie was born, his mum used to send him to stay with his dad in the holidays. He’d been four when Eff was born and had continued to go and stay at his dad’s, for a time. Until he started to notice the bruises and bumps that appeared on the baby’s tiny form every time he came back from being with his dad. Even four year old Ramsay knew that the marks on his little sister’s skin were made by cigarettes, and weren’t the birthmarks his mother claimed they were. After that, he told his mother he didn’t want to see his dad any more. She didn’t seem all that concerned, though he was pretty sure she was too doped up to really know what he was saying. Whether he went and saw his dad or not, she still got the money from him.  
Once Effie was old enough to go to school, Ramsay had started trying to go and see his dad. But he was always busy. The eight year old would turn up at his house or call from a phone box. “Mr Bolton is away on business.” Or “Mr Bolton is at work.” Would be the only answer he got. Once, he even got the address for his office, but he was told when he arrived that Mr Bolton was in a meeting.  
Ramsay was never able to wait around for him. He had to be back in time to pick Effie up from school. No one asked the eight year old boy any questions while he waited at the school gates for his sister. Sometimes a teacher might spot him and ask him why he wasn’t in school that day. “I’m here now.” He’d say. “Why? Am I late?” That would send them away, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. They’d given up trying to teach him when he was six.  
Effie had never met his dad and he tried not to mention him. It’s not like the subject ever came up. The fucker never bothered trying to contact him, and they never got any money from him either. He had no need to talk about him. Besides, Effie didn’t have a dad, and she seemed pretty fine with that. Even Ramsay didn’t know who her dad was.  
He suddenly wondered what she might have thought when she saw this stranger in the living room. Maybe she thought…  
“Social services called me.”  
_Those fuckers.  
_ “I’m eighteen. I’m an adult.”  
“You are not eighteen. Not for another two months. I was unaware you were no longer living with your mother.” He set down his mug on the table beside the armchair. The table rocked violently but somehow stayed upright.  
“Not for two years actually.” Ramsay snorted.  
“I’ve still been sending her money.”  
“Pity that. Probably went up her nose like all the rest. Sorry she didn’t let you know.” Ramsay grinned, shrugging his shoulders.  
“You’re not in college. You’re living on benefits. The council has received complaints about the noise. And you’re under age.” Ramsay tried not to let the concern show on his face. They had been homeless for a time when they’d first left home. He had no wish to experience that again.  
Ramsay was busy recalling their time on the streets when Roose Bolton said something that shocked him out of his trip down memory lane.  
“You will come and live with me.”  
“What?”  
“It will not be for free of course. You will work for me when I require your service. I’m sure you have some…talents.”  
Ramsay was stunned into silence. His dad was rich. Mega rich. But he’d never offered to help him out before, let alone let Ramsay live with him. Of course there was the money that his mum had gotten from him, but in one of her rages she’d said it was more hers than it was his. The money was to keep her quiet, not to keep him alive.    
But his dad was here now, offering a roof over his head and a life off of the estate. Ramsay had seen his house before. Living there permanently would be enough to pay for all the birthday’s he’d forgotten.  
Then another thought crossed Ramsay’s mind; one that cast a cloud over his father’s inviting proposition.  
“What about Effie?”  
His father raised an eyebrow. “Ef-fie?”  
“Yeah, my sister.” Ramsay nodded towards her bedroom door.   
Lots of people asked about her name. “Is it short for something? Elizabeth? Evangeline?” No. It was just Effie.  
It wasn’t what their mother had named her. She hadn’t named her anything at all as far as Ramsay knew. But four year old Ramsay had heard her use the ‘f’ word so many times around baby Effie that that was what he’d started calling her. And it just stuck. Even their mum called her Effie. Of course, as he’d grown older he realised how bad the name was. Cruel, even. But by then it was too late. Even so, he never told her the origins of her name. Even when she’d asked after coming home from school one day where they’d been learning about the meanings of their names. She’d asked him why she had been called Effie. “Ask mum.” He’d said. As far as he was aware, she never did ask her.  
Roose, however, didn’t seem to be interested on the origins of Effie’s name.  
“Everything comes at a price, Ramsay.” He said, giving him a meaningful look. Ramsay shifted on the sofa uncomfortably but shuffled forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  
“Well…she…she can cook…” _Chicken nuggets, pizza and pasta_ “and clean.” That was true, on the odd occasion he told her to clean. She washed their clothes as well, but they had to take them to the launderette from time to time.  
“And?”   
“And…sometimes she does the administration and stuff at the garage on weekends. She’s worked on the cars a bit too.” Ramsay was desperately trying. He knew he couldn’t just leave her. If Roose wouldn’t accept her, they’d have to stay here.  
“And?” Roose’s head tilted forward slightly, signalling he was growing bored.  
“She’s clever. She got level fives in all her SATS, and she’s level seven now at school. She’s in the top class for English…”  
Roose leant forward, his own elbows resting on his knees. Those cold eyes that Ramsay had never forgotten fixed on him.  
“And?”  
Ramsay was unaware that his knee had begun to shake. He rubbed his eye. He bit his lip. There was only one more thing he could think of. But if he said it…he wasn’t sure he wanted his father to know…  
But then he met his father’s gaze. Roose knew already. He just wanted to hear him say it.

Effie wasn’t aware that anyone was in her room until the mattress tilted and someone climbed into bed with her. She sat bolt upright, desperately trying to work out who it was. If it was the stranger, she should have been ready for him, not still in her school uniform.  
“You’re still dressed.” Ramsay slurred.  
“Ramsay? What are you…”  
“Why are you still dressed?” She could smell the alcohol on his breath.  
“I…I fell asleep.” Effie admitted, drawing her knees up to rest her chin on them.  
“My room’s cold.” He muttered. That was what he always said when he wanted to sleep in her bed. He was under her covers now, but she could still tell that he had his boxers and socks on. “S’cold.” He mumbled, burrowing beneath the sheets; one arm stretched out and gripping her ankle.   
“Okay.” Effie sighed. “Hang on.” He released her ankle so that she could strip down to her underwear, then she got back into bed. His grown-up body left little room and even less duvet so she had to press herself against him. Ramsay’s knees were up to stop his feet from sticking off the end of the bed, forcing them both into a spooning position. Once she was in his lap, his arms wrapped around her and his face burrowed into her neck. He kissed the top of her back gently.  
“Ramsay?”  
“Hm?”  
“Who was that man out there?” She asked, placing her hand over his and playing with his fingers. Effie contemplated how much warmer her bed was with him in it. It was nice.  
“Jus’ dad.” He mumbled.  
“Your dad?” Unable to turn and face him, she settled instead for just turning her head as far around as she could.  
“Yeah.” Ramsay sighed, ceasing his kissing.  
“Is he my dad too?”  
“No. Fuck knows who your dad is Eff.” Ramsay chuckled, moving one of his hands up so he could play with her hair.  
“What did he want?” Ramsay began kissing her again. His hand abandoned her hair and moved south to lightly fondle a small breast. He chuckled again. She could feel his teeth graze her neck as he smiled.  
“We’ve won the lottery Eff.” He breathed, his teeth sinking into her flesh a little as the kisses became bites.  
“What?” It was an old joke that Damon used whenever he’d bought something or did something that cost him money. He’d laugh that dopey laugh and say “Won the lottery didn’t I?”  
“My dad…gonna go live with him…” His voice began to fade and his bites slowed. Even though she almost fell off of the bed on her way around, Effie turned so she could look at him. His eyes were droopy and he smiled at her drunkenly. She was pretty sure she could get drunk herself just from the alcohol on his breath.  
“What do you mean live with him? What about me?” She cried. Effie was confused. Ramsay had hardly ever mentioned his father, and now here he was saying he was going to go and live with him. Did that mean she’d go back to her mother? Effie would rather be homeless again.  
Ramsay tugged her hair gently. “No, no…no!” He whined drunkenly. “We’re _both_ going.” Her blue eyes widened and her brows furrowed in confusion. “Both going?” She had expected none of this and the more she thought about it, the more it confused her.  
“Yeah yeah…he’s rich and stuff…wants me to work with him…” Ramsay’s eyelids drooped shut.  
“Ramsay!” She kicked him in the shin and he woke up with a snort. “What is going on? I don’t understand!” The whole thing was so confusing. Effie was angry when she felt tears stinging the back of her eyelids. Ramsay rolled his eyes and shifted his weight onto his elbow. “We are going to live with my father now. I’m going to work for him, and so will you.” He tucked a strand of her behind her ear.  
“Work for him? What…what do I have to do?”  
“Shh.” He pressed his finger to her lips. “Things are gonna get better for us Eff…you’ll see.” He smiled and forced Effie around so she was back on his lap again. “You’ll see.” He whispered. Before Effie could ask any more questions, Ramsay’s breathing steadied and grew deeper. She didn’t have the heart to wake him up again.


	6. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let the bed sheet  
> Soak up my tears  
> And watch the only way out disappear  
> Don't tell me why  
> Kiss me goodbye

She wanted to turn and run the other way, but before she could, she was spotted.  
“Effie Snow?” Mr Mott called when he saw her. She forced herself to smile and cross the road into the scrap yard. “Hello Mr Mott.” She said, leaning against the gate post.  
“I haven’t seen you round here for a while, what you been up to?” He didn’t stop checking off things on his clip board all the while.  
“Not much.” She continued to smile. In fact he hadn’t seen her for a few years.  
“You looking for Gendry?” Effie followed him as he moved into the office. For a scrap yard, the office was pretty neat with a decent computer a phone and even a coffee machine.  
“Yeah.” Her voice tremored a little but Mott didn’t seem to notice.  
“Wait here love, I’ll go get him for you.” The moment he left, the urge to run off came back. Effie had to force herself not to leave; instead distracting herself by circling the office.  
Gendry had lived and worked for Tobho Mott for as long as Effie could remember. They used to play in the scrap yard from dawn until dusk at weekends; making dens out of whatever they found. It was the only freedom and safe place to roam that was in the estate, and Tobho didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t Gendry’s father or anything, Gendry didn’t know his father and his mother had died when he was little. She hadn’t really asked him about any of it because she didn’t want him asking about her own father. Gendry knew about her mother, but as far as she knew he hadn’t told anyone about Effie’s family.  
Mott had pictures of the Gendry Effie knew on his desk, and it was those pictures she was looking at when he walked in.  
“What are _you_ doing here?” He asked before she’d even had time to turn around.  
Effie shrugged, not able to say anything with her mouth as dry as it was. Gendry waited, then realised she wasn’t going to speak first. He wore overalls, but had unzipped them so that his torso was bare. Effie tried not to stare as he shrugged it back on, blocking her view.  
“You weren’t in school yesterday.” He said, zipping it up.  
“No. Why? Did you miss me?” She smiled at that, and at how he looked away; the guilt he felt clear on his face. Effie stood in silence for a moment, relishing the awkwardness. “Ramsay told me to have the day off. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”  
“Leaving? Where to?” Gendry actually looked surprised by that.  
“His dad wants us to go and live with him. He’s got a big house. It feels a little empty.” She shrugged. Gendry scratched his head and wiped his nose with his arm. “You always do what he says, don’t you?”  
“Mott’s kind of like your dad, right? The closest thing you’ve got.” Gendry glanced out of the window before nodding. “Ramsay’s been the only person in my life who’s ever actually given a fuck about me. He’s been a mum and a dad and a brother. I owe him.”  
“No. You’re just afraid of him.” Gendry looked at her angrily. Effie glared back. “I’m not afraid of anyone.”  
“What? You think punching Pia in the face proves that?” Gendry asked incredulously. Effie pursed her lips and pouted a little, breaking her gaze from his.  
“Why did you come here Effie?” Effie didn’t answer. “You just wanted someone to care that you were leaving, didn’t you? If your precious brother means so fucking much to you, why do you have to crave other peoples’ attention, huh?” Each word stung, especially coming from the boy in the photos. The boy that had been her friend.  
“Fuck you Gendry.” She muttered, heading for the door, making sure she pushed passed him on the way out.  
“Fine, run away. Again. And take your fucking trouble with you!” He yelled after her. Effie bit back tears until she was well away from the scrap yard.

“Got everything?” Ramsay stood in the doorway. Effie nodded; wrapping the top of the bin bag that held her belongings around her hand to make it easier to carry. The box Mrs Hornwood had given her was in there as well, along with the chocolate bar Mrs Hornwood had given her yesterday when she’d said goodbye.  
The old woman hadn’t understood at first, and Effie was pretty sure that after a few days she would have forgotten she’d left. How long would it take for her to forget Effie all together?  
That was why she’d gone to see Gendry too. Because Gendry wouldn’t forget, no matter how much he wanted to.  
The driver Ramsay’s dad had sent took the rubbish bag that held Effie’s stuff. Their apartment seemed empty without what little belongings they had in there. Even Jeyne was gone; Ramsay had argued her case but Mr Bolton had refused to allow her to live in his house. He promised Ramsay another dog, so Jeyne had been sent to Ben’s to be kept or sold as he wished. She wasn’t the only one to get dumped there. Effie hadn’t been there when Ramsay had told Myranda he was moving away, but Ramsay’s black eye told her Myranda had taken it badly. He’d said goodbye to Ben and Damon there as well, though he hadn’t told Effie until she got back. “I’ll get him to come around before we leave, okay?” He’d promised when a sullen silence was his only answer. He’d said that Friday evening. It was Sunday morning, yet Damon still hadn’t shown up. Maybe he was leaving it until the last minute, like in the movies.  
“C’mon Eff. The driver’s waiting.” They were being driven to Mr Bolton’s. Ramsay had been promised a new car; a better one than the one he’d had before. He’d given the car to Skinner. _Given_ it. “It’s not like we need the money.” He’d grinned over dinner after he’d told her.  
Taking one last look around her room, Effie followed Ramsay through the flat for the last time. It had been their home for two years now, and she felt oddly sad about leaving. It wasn’t much at all, but at the time it had been their sanctuary; hers and Ramsay’s. No matter who came through those doors, Effie always knew that soon enough it would just be them again.  
Once outside, she was hit with another wave of nostalgia. This estate, it had been her whole world her entire life. She’d never been off of it. Even her schools had been on the outskirts. And now she was leaving that too and it was terrifying. Ramsay hadn’t even told her what his father’s place was like. All he’d said that the house was very large. Was it in the countryside? In the city? How far away was it? She didn’t even know where she was going to go to school when she got there.  
Effie hadn’t even realised she’d stopped until Ramsay put his hand on her arm and shook her. “Eff? What’s up?” He asked.  
“I…I’m not…I can’t…ready…I’m not ready.” Her breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. Her fragile form was shaking violently. They were on the stairwell and she quickly grasped the rail so she wouldn’t fall. “I…I…” Her throat felt as though it were closing up.   
“Eff…Eff, stop fucking hyperventilating…Eff, for fuck sake!”   
The world was shifting and she kept seeing little white spots dancing around the stairwell. She stared at the hand on the railing. Was that her hand? It was flesh and bone, and pale…white as snow…  
“Effie!” Ramsay yelled as he slapped her back to reality. Her cheek stung, but the white spots were gone and her breathing began to steady. She still trembled slightly but she was able to focus now.    
“Sorry, I got…I panicked?”  
“Yeah, just a bit.” It could have been said jokingly, but Effie could tell she had irritated him.  
“Sorry.” She said again. Ramsay answered with threatening silence.

When they reached the car park, Effie wondered if they could wait just a bit longer. Maybe if she asked Ramsay to call him? Perhaps Damon had just forgotten?  
The driver, a considerably short man with dark hair, a short beard and the eyes of a hawk, was waiting for them beside the car; a sleek, black BMW with leather interiors. The new car scent still lingered. Effie couldn’t recall the last time she had smelled something so clean.  
“You two both ready?” He asked gruffly. He didn’t sound as posh as Effie had expected.  
She hid behind Ramsay; fearful of the hungry stare.  
“Think so, right Eff?” She nodded in agreement. Ramsay moved away from her, apparently unaware of her trembling form behind him. Before she could follow him, the driver blocked her path and opened the car door for her, his beard twitching into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “In you get kiddo.” He gestured towards the inside of the car. Effie tried to smile gratefully, but it took her full concentration just to keep her breathing regular.  
She slid into the back seat, flinching as the door slammed shut. The windows in the back of the car were tinted, so the driver couldn’t see her watching him as he moved to the driver’s seat. Ramsay was already in the passenger’s seat. “Nice car.” He said to the driver once the man had started the engine. Effie had never heard a car so quiet.   
“Cheers. Your dad says you used to work at a garage?”  
“Yeah, didn’t get many cars like this in though. And if we did it was probably stolen.” Both men laughed heartily.  
“The name’s Locke by the way.” The driver told them before the conversation returned to the dull subject of cars. Effie resigned herself to staring out of the window and watching the world go by. Her brother was so deep in conversation he didn’t see the youth swaggering along the pavement; hands buried deep in the pockets of his Harrington jacket. Effie watched as they passed him without stopping, praying Damon would turn and look.  
They had passed him when she remembered the windows were tinted. Damon couldn’t see her even if he did turn and look.  
“Ramsay!” Perhaps they could stop the car.  
“What?” He snapped, turning to glare at her meaningfully. Effie sank back in her seat, knowing better than to ask anything of that black look. “Nothing.” Effie could have cried with the unfairness of it all. Chance was a cruel thing. Ramsay had gotten to say goodbye to his friends. Effie had hardly any; Mrs Hornwood would forget about her and Gendry didn’t care. But Damon did. He had come to say goodbye.  
Effie closed her eyes and rested her head against the sweet smelling leather; imagining Damon on his way to see her. How he would sing ‘The Ace of Spades’ by Motorhead (his favourite song) as he bounded up the stairwell. He’d reach their flat and grin at the 69 with his goofy smile. He’d knock on the door. There’d be silence. He’d knock again before crouching down and peering through the letterbox. “Eff?” He’d call for her, not for Ramsay. “Effie?” From what he could see, the house would be dead and dark and still. He’d stand up, still staring at the letterbox, frowning. Even the 69 wouldn’t be enough to bring the smile back to his lips. He’d roughly yank up the collar of his Harrington and burrow his hands back into the pockets, because his world suddenly felt just that bit colder. “I’ll find you Eff. One day. I’ll find you.” He’d say to the door that had once been the entrance to her home. With his shoulders hunched like the whole world was against him, he’d walk away, wishing he could turn back the clock so that they could say goodbye. So that he could tell her he loved her, and make up for all the times he’d missed to say it before.


	7. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're almost here, you catch your breath,  
> A ghost is whispering in your head:  
> ''No, you're not home''

Effie had had little idea of what to expect, but it hadn’t been this. Mr Bolton’s house wasn’t a house at all, but a four-storey mansion. 1864 had been engraved above the entrance. Effie guessed that was the date it had been built.  
The driveway was long and winding, with tall oak trees lining the gravel road, opening up into a mini roundabout which Locke drove around slowly; sliding the car to a stop once it was level with the entrance.   
A young girl appeared beneath the stone archway; her hands clasped together nervously. “Who’s that? Does Mr Bolton have a daughter too?” Effie asked the moment Locke was out of the car  
“No, you idiot, that’s the maid.” Ramsay muttered, climbing out of the car before she could ask any more questions. Locke opened Effie’s door for her and she managed a quiet ‘thank you’ this time.  
“Cheers Locke.” Ramsay grinned.  
“No problem Ramsay.” They had been in the car for almost three hours and Effie was certain they hadn’t stopped talking for the entire journey. Of course, Effie had not been included in the conversation. She did not share an interest in cars, dogs or hunting like Locke and Ramsay did, though Effie was sure Ramsay had never actually been hunting. That was something rich people did.  
“Afternoon Gilly.” Locke leered at the young maid. Effie was too busy taking in the immensity of the house to notice the exchange.  
“Eff!” Ramsay yelled. Pulling her eyes away from this place that was to be her home, she moved over to her brother and took the bin bag that held her belongings from him.  
“Mr Bolton wanted me to tell you that he is still at work but will be back in time for dinner. There is a gathering…a social gathering…this evening that he wishes for you both to attend, so you must both be showered and well-dressed by nine. Mr Bolton has instructed me to show you both to your rooms.” The girl sounded like a robot; churning out the words that had been programmed into her. She didn’t look up either, just continued to stare at her feet. Effie guessed she couldn’t be any older than seventeen.  
_Is that what Ramsay meant by work? Will I end up like Gilly?  
_ The girl looked so miserable, Effie hoped her assumption was wrong.  
“Thank you Gilly.” Ramsay said. Effie noticed the amusement in his voice. Gilly continued to stare at her feet fearfully. “Well? Are you going to let us in?” The maid started to tremble at his tone and her cheeks flushed red. Effie saw Ramsay smirk as the girl scurried into action. Effie pitied her. “Don’t.” She mouthed at her brother. Ramsay shrugged and raised his eyebrows, following Gilly inside.  
Ramsay continued to tease and mock the maid right up until they reached the third floor. Gilly turned to Effie, still too afraid to look her in the eye. “Th…these are your rooms.” Even the girl’s voice trembled now. Ramsay had a way of unnerving you sometimes, simply just by him being there. Effie wasn’t thinking about the girl now though.  
She looked up and down the corridor. There were three doors, each leading to a separate room. “My _rooms_?” Effie repeated. Ramsay slipped an arm around her shoulders and leant in until he was at her height. “I told you Eff. Fucking minted.” Effie turned to look at him, her eyes widening in surprise.  
“A whole floor?” She gasped. “A whole floor? All to myself?” Ramsay grinned and Effie smiled her impish smile back at him before hurrying off down the hall to the furthest room. It was only the bathroom, but that made it no less amazing. It was the size her bedroom had been at home, with a bath _and_ a shower, a built in sink and a pristine toilet. Toiletries had been bought for her too, the expensive Aussie shampoo and conditioner that Effie had never been allowed to buy. There had been no point wasting money on things like that. But now things were different.  
Effie buried her hands into the soft towels neatly hung on the radiator.   
“Fuck sake Eff, it’s only the fucking bathroom!” Ramsay stood grinning in the doorway. Effie laughed and brushed past him and into the next room. It seemed to be some sort of study/chill out room. There was a sofa, a bookshelf full of books, a desk, a laptop and a TV. Her own TV! “This is insane!” Effie cried, hurrying on to the next room. The bed was the biggest bed she’d ever seen. The room was the size of the lounge and kitchen combined in their old home. There was a dresser and a wardrobe and a huge window looking out over the grounds at the back of the house. The room lacked personality, but she was sure she could make it her own.  
She was still admiring the room when Ramsay whistled behind her, sounding his own astonishment. “What do you think?” He asked, looking around the room from the doorway.  
“It’s like a palace.” She breathed, unable to think of anything else to say.  
“But you like it, yeah? You can make it your own too. Some posters and stuff. You’ll feel right at home.” He’d moved into the room and Effie turned to face him. To wrap her arms around his neck, she had to jump up. “I love it.” She whispered, pecking his cheek. Ramsay wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her to him.  
Eventually they let go. Effie’s face was flushed with happiness. “You’d better go check out your own…floor.” Effie smiled her impish smile and turned away from him, heading deeper into the room to stare out the window, longing to explore more of the house that was now her home.

It may have been his home, but Roose Bolton looked no warmer than the first time she’d met him. Not that they’d been officially introduced. She was living in his home, yet they had not said one word to one another. Until that evening, anyway.   
Dinner was a simple fair, made by Gilly, but it was the single fanciest meal Effie had ever seen that wasn’t on TV. A slice of cauliflower and stilton flan with broccoli. Effie stared at it for a full minute before catching Ramsay’s eye. He made a face and grinned, turning his face to stone the moment his dad caught him and making Effie laugh.  
The fancy flan wasn’t that bad, as long as she had enough cranberry juice to wash down the taste of cauliflower.  
Effie answered the questions Roose asked and only spoke when she was spoken to, not leaving the table until Mr Bolton excused her. She thanked him, and Gilly, who was moving around the dining room in silence. She looked shocked when Effie actually spoke to her.  
They had eaten dinner at seven, on the dot, leaving Effie two hours to shower and get ready for this ‘social gathering’ Roose wanted them to go to. She was oddly nervous about it. Surely it would be rooms full off posh people that she had nothing in common with, that didn’t know her and probably never would.  
But at least they didn’t know her.

At nine o’clock, she went downstairs dressed in a black dress; strapless and corseted at the top with a full skirt. She didn’t have any tights that weren’t without holes, so she had to wear two pairs and hope no one noticed. She didn’t have any heels, so settled for black boots instead. Effie looked more Goth than classy, but it would do. She hoped.  
Ramsay was down next. To her relief, he looked less smart than she did. Clearly he hadn’t thought to neatly pack his clothes that morning, so the shirt he wore was creased. His jeans were the same he’d worn the whole day. His hair was still damp from showering.  
Roose was down a moment later. He gave Ramsay a disapproving glance that made Effie move a little closer to him. Ramsay shrugged her off and followed his dad out the door. Effie glanced at herself in the mirror that hung on the wall in the hallway. The thick eyeliner and dark eyeshadow and the makeup she wore made her look older. Usually she liked that, but tonight she felt stupid. Like some kid playing with her mother’s makeup.

The feeling was only enhanced half an hour later, when they arrived at some posh hotel. Bentley’s, Audi’s, BMW’s and Jaguars all filled the car park. People stepped out of them, all in sleek designer clothing. The women all wore heels and had their hair done up in fashions Effie only saw in magazines and on TV. She would have made a joke about it if she didn’t feel so out of place. The moment they were out of the car, Effie moved to Ramsay’s side, standing slightly behind him. “Just stay with me, yeah?” He said. Effie nodded; eyeing the building fearfully. The sound of strings filled the night air.  
“You two, speak to no one. Stay with me until I tell you otherwise.” Roose said softly.  
Then Effie did something she hadn’t done since she was twelve. She gripped Ramsay’s hand tightly; threading her fingers through his. To her relief, he clung to her just as tightly. Effie couldn’t remember the last time Ramsay was nervous or frightened of anything. It must have been when they lived with mum.  
Effie was thankful that she didn’t have heels on. Even in boots, she struggled not to trip. Her knees knocked together so hard she was sure that they would all hear them above the sound of the…were those musicians?  
There was a security guard at the door. He eyed Ramsay and Effie suspiciously, like they always did, until Roose informed him that they were with him. But the look they received from the security guard was nothing compared to the looks they received once inside. They were under dressed; laughably so. Effie turned at the sound of laughter to see a blonde woman standing with a blonde man with a blonde boy in between them. The boy looked like their son, but they looked like twins. When she caught their stares, the woman turned away, smirking, and whispered something to the blonde man who started to laugh. The boy eyed her curiously, before turning away and calling to someone from across the room. Roose had stopped to talk to someone, giving Effie the chance to watch.  
“Sansa, come here!” The blonde boy called. Effie watched as a girl with beautiful red hair obeyed his command. She was pale and slim, with dark circles beneath her eyes and the most pitiful expression Effie had ever seen. She couldn’t have been any older than Effie. When the girl, Sansa, reached him, he grabbed her by the arm and dragged her closer. Even from where she stood, Effie could tell his grip pained her. Sansa’s face twisted with pain and revulsion.  
“I get it. You hate him.” Effie observed out loud.  
“What was that Eff?” Ramsay asked, turning to look at her. He had a glass of champagne in his hand and looked about anxiously, as though on the lookout for predators. Mr Bolton was nowhere to be seen.  
“Nothing. Just looking.” She tried to smile, but Ramsay didn’t seem to notice. He looked on edge and uncomfortable. “Rams? Ramsay!” He stared down at her, surprised by her raised voice. “You look…just, don’t be. You’re Mr Bolton’s son, yeah?”  
“Yeah yeah…” He muttered, downing the rest of his champagne and returning to his anxious searching.  
A few moments later, Mr Bolton reappeared.  
“Effie, would you come with me please? There is somewhere you need to be.” He moved away again before Effie could ask any questions. She turned to look at Ramsay, who had gone pale. “Ramsay…Ramsay, where is he taking me?” Her voice shook and she felt tears at the back of her throat.  
“Eff…Eff, listen…”   
“Ramsay, I don’t want to…what is he going to do? What’s happening?” Her breathing was becoming short again, so she tried to focus on his warm hand as it wrapped tightly around her arm.  
“Eff, you’ve got to listen to me, okay? Everything comes with a price…”  
“What price? What does that even mean?”  
“Don’t make a scene Eff, it’ll just make it worse. Nothing is going to happen to you, okay? You are just going to go and make some friends and I’ll come and get you later. I promise. I’ll explain everything later. Just be brave for me. You can be brave for me, can’t you Eff?” She could detect the threat in his voice, though she longed to pretend it wasn’t there.   
Nodding slightly, swallowing the tears, she allowed Ramsay to turn her around. He pushed her towards Roose and turned away before she could step back towards him. “I’m just going to make some friends.” She muttered to herself. Every step was agony, but she endured it until she had reached Mr Bolton. He made no effort to smile encouragingly, but he placed a cold hand on her back; just above the top of the dress so flesh met flesh. “I’m sorry if I startled you Effie. Don’t worry. I’m just taking you to meet some friends of mine.” Effie did worry. What friends? Why couldn’t Ramsay come too?


	8. Owe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regrets collect like old friends  
> Here to relive your darkest moments  
> I can see no way, I can see no way  
> And all of the ghouls come out to play  
> And every demon wants his pound of flesh  
> But I like to keep some things to myself

Roose guided her through the crowd, smiling at familiar faces and muttering quick greetings, but never stopping. Effie wasn’t sure whether or not that was reassuring. The crowd grew thinner the further they went into the hotel. By the time they reached the room Roose stopped at, there were only a few people around.  
“Here we are Effie.” She held her breath as he turned the handle and pushed the door open. Inside were two women. One with red hair, the other with a sweet smile and brown hair. They had both been eating apples, but stopped as soon as Effie and Mr Bolton entered.  
“Effie, this is Ros and Daisy.” Effie stared at them, speechless. They certainly had not been what she was expecting. Effie could have wept with relief. Instead, she forced herself to smile. “You need to wait here now Effie. Stay with Ros and Daisy, and don’t leave until Ramsay comes to get you.” Roose commanded. Nodding, Effie turned around and said “Thank you, Mr Bolton. For…for everything.” She hadn’t said it yet. Now, filled with gratitude, it seemed a better time than any. Roose didn’t smile, but he nodded and left, closing the door behind him.   
Effie continued to stare at the closed door until one of the women behind her spoke. “Effie, is it?” She turned around and smiled. “I’m Ros, she’s Daisy.” The red haired one smiled back.  
“Hi.” Daisy piped up. Effie was too afraid to speak, so she just continued to smile.  
“Come here, little lamb. Come sit with us.” They were both sat on a velvet-covered chaise longue, but they moved apart to make room for her. Effie dutifully sat down. They were both well dressed and she drank in the scent of their perfume. She felt rather shabby between them.  
“I like your dress.” Daisy squeaked. “Who is it?” She added.  
“Who?” Effie frowned.  
“Daisy just means what designer is it.” Ros corrected, feeling the fabric of the skirt.  
“Oh…it’s err…it’s not designer, it’s from New Look.” Ros dropped the skirt.  
“Well, I don’t suppose it matters anyway. You’re a pretty thing, no matter what you wear.” Her voice was soft and kind with a slight Northern accent.  
“You are. You’re very pretty. How did Roose Bolton find you?” Daisy asked.  
“He didn’t…my brother…Mr Bolton is my brother’s dad. He’s taken us both in to live with him.” Effie hadn’t noticed the voices outside until now. The crowd had grown outside, she could tell by the noise.  
“Your brother? Tell me, Effie,” Ros inched closer, “how old are you?”  
“Fourteen.” Effie answered uncertainly. Ros’ look darkened, but it was Daisy who was on the receiving end. “She’s far too young to be here.” The red head growled.  
“It’s not our business Ros, you know that. Remember what happened to the last one who…you know…complained.”  
“Yes. But _she_ wasn’t a child.” Ros turned back to Effie. “Effie, do you have any idea what you are doing here?”  
“It’s…it’s just a party, right?” Her mouth felt dry and her breathing began to shorten. She crumpled the hem of her skirt in her fist; dampening the fabric with her sweat.  
“Oh, it’s a party.” Ros chuckled darkly. The voices outside grew louder. “For them.”

Sitting on the chaise longue, Effie spoke to no one. Ros and Daisy had been taken away ages ago. The crowd had dwindled a little. People were still speaking with one another; occasionally glancing at the lone girl who sat staring, unseeing, her knees knocking together.  
“Eff.” She didn’t hear him at first. “Eff! It’s Ramsay. Hey! Eff?” Her head slowly turned and she blinked.  
“They saw me and stared and stuff. They took the others. Daisy and Ros. Men took them away. But they didn’t touch me.” Her voice sounded disjointed. She wasn’t even sure if it was her own. “Ramsay, can we go home now?” Her eyes remained distant and unseeing. She couldn’t focus on his features. Effie was vaguely aware of him pulling her to her feet and leaning on him as they made their way from the room. Once they were out of the occasion suites, Ramsay lifted her up and carried her up some stairs.   
_There were no stairs when we came in_.  
“Ramsay, where are we going?” She asked, waking up from her dazed state. “Ramsay?” He didn’t look at her.   
“Everything comes at a price Effie, remember?” He gritted his teeth. Effie stared at his trembling lips. She wasn’t even aware they were in a hotel room until he set her down on a bed.  
“He’ll be here shortly.” Ramsay muttered, unlacing her boots.  
“Who will?” She crossed her arms and pursed her lips together.  
“Mr Lannister.”  
“Have you met him?”  
“No.”  
“And what am I supposed to do?” Ramsay sighed and stopped undoing her boots so he could look up at her.  
“You know Eff.” He said quietly. Effie felt a tear slide down her cheek, searing the pale flesh. “Ramsay…no…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “Please, Ramsay. Please don’t make me do it. Not again, please…”  
Once he’d finished taking her shoes off, he stood up.  
“I’m staying in the hotel too. I’ll see you in the morning.” He mumbled, unable to meet her gaze. Effie wasn’t able to give up so easily. “Ramsay please.” He started to walk away, but she stood up and followed him; clutching hold of his arm. “You can’t do this to me…not again…last time, remember? Last time you made me do this, you promised it would never happen again. Please Ramsay. Please don’t make me do it! I’ll do anything, _please!_ ” She wailed. Ramsay wrenched his arm from her grasp and swung it so that it knocked her into the wall. Before she could fall to the floor, his arm pushed into her throat, pinning her up. “Do you think I have a choice? I _owe_ him, Eff. And you owe me. If you don’t do this, you’ll have to go and live with mum again. Is that what you want? IS IT?” He roared. Effie whimpered and turned her face away from him, shaking her head, though it was more of a violent twitch. For a moment, she thought he might hit her again. Instead he kissed her on the lips; hard and quick. Effie sobbed as he pulled away and let her go. She crumpled at his feet and cried onto his shoes.  
“I’ll see you in the morning.” He growled, moving away from her and leaving her there, weeping on the floor.

She barely had enough time to check her reflection before the door to her room opened. “Ramsay?” She called out hopefully, hurrying to the door of the bathroom and peering out.   
“I’m afraid not.” Was Mr Lannister’s reply. Effie stared, partly in shock, partly in horror. Mr Lannister was the shortest man she had ever come across. He had blonde hair, mismatched eyes and a bulbous forehead. He leant against the doorframe as though he were unable to stand on his own. Maybe he wasn’t. His head was out of proportion with the rest of his body.  
“You muss be Efffie.” He slurred. Effie nodded, unable to speak. The dwarf gave her thumbs up, then closed the door and staggered passed her. “Come come!” He waved a hand, signalling for her to follow. “Don’t worry about the staring…happens all the time.” She could barely make out what he said, but it didn’t seem to matter.  
“Mr Lannister, what do you…”  
“Tyrion, Effie, call me Tyrion.” He mumbled, turning to face her.  
“Tyrion. What do you want me to do?” The drunken dwarf spread his arms out wide. “Fuck me until I pass out. It shouldn’t take long. I’ve had quite a bit to drink.” He chuckled at his own joke and staggered over to one of the cupboards. He found the mini fridge without having to search for it. Clearly, he had done this before.   
Effie moved passed him. _It won’t take long_ she told herself. With trembling fingers, she pulled at the laces of the corset until it was loose enough for her to slip off. She hadn’t worn a bra, which she regretted now. Perhaps she would have been able to get away with doing it with her bra on.  
Distracting herself with her thoughts, Effie slid the tights off, then finally her knickers until she was completely bare. Her face must have looked a mess, but he wasn’t looking at her face.  
Effie felt sick as his eyes scanned her body.  
The words he said next surprised her. “How old are you?” He asked, his voice gentle now.  
“F…fourteen.” She stammered, unable to meet his mismatched gaze.  
“And are you a virgin?” Effie blushed and shook her head. “How old were you…when you…”  
“Twelve.” It was Tyrion’s turn to be silent now. She wished he wasn’t, it allowed time for all the memories to come flooding back.  
It had happened shortly before they’d left home. Ramsay had known what he’d have to make her do on the streets, but he didn’t want a stranger to hurt her. So he did it himself. He’d told her afterwards so that she’d understand how sorry he was. He’d drugged her drink at dinner so that she wouldn’t fight him and her body would be limp. It had made it easier for her, he swore. Effie remembered none of it. She used to try and recall the memory. It disturbed her to know there was a moment in her life she had forgotten. She could have enjoyed it. Effie had had so little enjoyment, she cherished the moments that made her happy, even if they were wrong.  
Not wanting to think about it anymore, Effie got on the bed. Taking a deep breath, she readied herself to spread her legs.  
“Stop.” Her breath caught in her throat and Effie looked at him, without blushing. Tyrion’s gaze was solemn. “I can’t…well I could. You are very beautiful, Effie. But I won’t.” She stared at him, not because of his size or his hideous face, but because she was surprised. Then suddenly, Effie was fearful. “But, Roose, what will he…”  
“Fuck Roose Bolton!” The little man roared. Effie flinched and Tyrion’s faced gentled again. “I won’t tell him, and he’ll still get his money.”  
“Money?” Tyrion gave her a meaningful look. “Oh…” Effie whispered, feeling more wretched than she had done the entire night.  
“Put your dress back on, Effie. If it makes you feel more comfortable.” Effie did just that. He had the decency to look away as she put her clothes back on.  
“Goodnight.” He slurred, climbing into bed. Effie felt guilty; he had been kind to her. She owed him a little kindness back.   
Effie smiled her impish smile and climbed in beside him, keeping at least a foot between them. It was a big bed, and he was only a small man.  
“Pity.” She sighed.  
“Hm?”  
“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck a dwarf.” She laughed. Tyrion laughed too and rolled onto his side so his back was to her. “One day perhaps, you’ll know, Effie Snow…” She smiled at that and waited until he started snoring softly before closing her eyes and giving in to fatigue.


	9. Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been three years since Effie and Ramsay moved in with and began to work for Roose Bolton. Effie's name is well known. She's a personality star, seen in high society magazines with fellow well-known faces.  
> She's beautiful and witty. Effie Snow is perfect.

“Effie! Eff!” She gasped when Myrcella yanked the headphones from her ears and slammed the stop button, grinding the treadmill to a smooth halt. Effie managed to catch herself before she face planted into the machine. “Are you trying to kill me?”  
“No…just…can we please…stop…for the day?” Her friend panted, wiping the sweat from her brow. Effie grinned, grabbed her towel and wiped away her own perspiration. “Fine.” Grabbing her drink, Effie slung a sweaty arm around the young girl’s shoulders and they headed out of the gym, only for Myrcella to shrug her off. “Urgh, you’re all sweaty.”  
“You’re not! Clearly haven’t been trying hard enough.” Effie grinned.  
“Yes I have!” The young girl argued. Effie knew better than to argue back. They hurried up the stairs into Myrcella’s room where they both changed out of their gym gear. “You sure you don’t want to come and watch my riding lesson? Tommen won’t mind and it saves you from going home and coming back.”  
“Coming back?”  
“My sleepover silly! Mummy said I can have a friend around tonight, you know, because it’s my birthday next week!” Myrcella squealed excitedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to be fourteen.” Effie just smiled her Effie smile.  
“Sorry, I forgot. What time did you want me back around?” They headed back downstairs, Effie leading the way with Myrcella right on her tail.   
“I don’t know. I can ask mum and she’ll pick you up later.” Myrcella said as they made their way into the pristine kitchen. Effie paused at the breakfast counter whilst Myrcella got them some juice. Neither of them heard Myrcella’s older brother come into the kitchen. “What the fuck have you been doing Myrcella? You look awful.” Joffrey scowled, ignoring Effie as he swaggered over to the cupboard and got out some crisps. Effie rolled her eyes once his back was to her but held her tongue.  
“Mummy doesn’t like you swearing Joff. And we’ve been working out.”  
Joffrey smiled his triumphant smile as he thought of an insult. “Well it isn’t working. You’re still fat." Myrcella stared down into her cup of water, clearly upset by the remark. Glancing over at Joffrey, Effie could tell he felt no guilt over it. She quickly downed her drink and glanced at the clock. “Myrcella, I’ve got to go and catch my bus.” She announced, standing up and swinging the bag of sweaty clothes onto her shoulder.  
“Okay, I’ll come with you.” Myrcella hurried towards her, clearly glad to get away from her brother.  
“Bus wanker.” Joffrey muttered under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear as they headed out the door. Effie couldn’t help herself this time. “Inbetweeners. Wow.” She retorted flatly, raising her eyebrows to express her disapproval. Joffrey glared back but it didn’t stop her from turning her back on him and heading out the door.

They had been standing there for five minutes when someone called Effie’s name. “Effie, hi!” She groaned inwardly.  
“Who’s that?” Myrcella asked eagerly. “Is she a friend?”  
“No. Just a girl from college.” Effie replied, trying to pretend she hadn’t seen the two approaching figures. Myranda Royce wasn’t going to back off though and dragged the man who was with her to a halt once she reached the bus stop. “Oh my god Effie, it’s so weird seeing you outside of college! I mean, besides in magazines and stuff.” The girl smiled that false, sickly smile.  
“Hi Myranda.” Was Effie’s only reply.   
“Oh, how rude of me, this is Marillion, my boyfriend.” Myranda giggled. “Babe, this is Effie Snow. You know, I told you about her? She’s like, mega famous, right Eff?”  
“It’s Effie. And no, actually. I’m not.” Despite her being the subject of the conversation, no one seemed to hear her.  
Marillion looked her up and down, his eyes finally resting on her tits. “Oh I remember. Seen you in magazines haven’t I? You should come down and watch my gig tonight. I’ve got some friends that sure would like to meet you.” His smile was handsome enough and Effie might have appreciated the invite were it not directed at her chest.  
“Marillion’s a singer, aren’t you babe? He’s playing tonight at The Queen’s Head in town. You really should come. You need to get out more, you know, do some normal stuff for a change.” The last sentence caused Effie to arch her brow. The resentment was palpable.  
Effie was used to the bitter treatment. At college, all boys wanted to be with her, and all girls wanted to _be_ her. No one was quite sure what she was famous for, but she appeared regularly in high society magazines and on social media. Though her personality did her favours too. She lived a crazy lifestyle; attending polo matches one day and Glastonbury festival the next and yet still smiling and never appearing with a hair out of place. She wore what she wanted, when she wanted, never minding who judged her. She’d be photographed with the highest members of society too. Of course, there was the Baratheon family, the Lannister’s too (when a picture surfaced of her next to a _smiling_ Tywin Lannister, the media exploded). Yet despite her social endeavours, she attended college and was achieving decent grades in all her subjects. Girls wanted to be her and were in awe whenever she spoke to them, but they were jealous of her too. Who wouldn’t be? Effie Snow was mesmerizing and stunning and cool. Effie Snow was perfect.  
“Effie can’t go out tonight! She’s coming around mine for a sleepover and we’re going to eat cookie dough and play twister!” The thirteen year old squealed excitedly, making Myranda and Marillion reel back in an attempt to protect their ears.  
“Oh, how rude of me, this is Myrcella.” Effie mimicked Myranda’s false tones.  
“Oh…Myrcella…Myrcella Baratheon, right?”  
“Yeah.” Myrcella nodded cheerfully.  
“It’s lovely to meet you! I’ve heard all about you! Your performance in that film you were in was amazing. And you’re an amazing rider…” Effie tuned out as Myranda gushed her falseness over Myrcella, who blushed and lapped it up with her naivety.  
“Babe, we’ve got to go. I need to get ready for my gig.” Marillion cut in eventually, having got his fill of Effie’s cleavage.  
“Right, sorry babe. It was nice to meet you Myrcella. See you around college Effie.” She added with a pointed look. Placing Marillion’s unknowing arm around her shoulder, Myranda flicked her hair and continued on down the road.  
“She seems nice.” Myrcella chimed, watching them go.  
“I should never speak to girls named Myranda.” Effie thought aloud, ignoring Myrcella’s questioning glance as the bus appeared at the end of the road.

“Mr Bolton, I must thank you for dealing with the private matter we discussed.” Tywin Lannister sat his office chair as though it were a throne. His daughter sat on a sofa to Roose’s right, cradling a glass of wine in her hands.  
“It was no trouble, Mr Lannister. Ms Dustin has assured me the girl will be quite safe there and under close watch. She will see to it that she is fit again in a few months.” Roose replied, declining the glass of whiskey that was offered, much to Mr Lannister’s approval.  
“I do not care if the girl has a breakdown. Her health is not my concern. The future of my family is.” Roose noticed the meaningful glance Mr Lannister dealt his daughter, but pretended he did not. As did Cersei. “The boy was stupid.” Mr Lannister declared.  
“The girl was weak.” Cersei butted in.  
“No, the boy was stupid. The girl dealt with it for nigh on four years. He pushed it too far and allowed it to become common knowledge. Fortunately, I have managed to withhold it from the papers, but that will not stop it spreading as rumour. Do you have any idea what will happen to this family if it is known your son pushed a girl to a mental breakdown by both mental and physical means? And that _you_ let it happen?” It was all aimed at Cersei, but Roose listened intently, relishing the tension between them.  
“Like you said, it has been contained. Soon enough it will all blow over.” Cersei took a deep drink of wine.  
“I’m not willing to take that chance.” Tywin scowled.  
“Even his own father is unaware of what Joff’s done.” She grimaced at the mention of Joffrey’s father. Roose narrowed his eyes, putting together the pieces but saying nothing. “His father is a drunken fool. Others are not. The rumours need to be dealt with.” Tywin turned to meet Mr Bolton’s cold, calculating gaze. The two saw eye to eye with a single glance. “And you need my help to deal with it.” Roose finished.  
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”  
“In what manner are you speaking, exactly?” Cersei cut in, interrupting their wordless exchange.  
“Effie, is it?” Tywin feigned ignorance in the presence of his daughter. Roose gave a small smile and tilted his head forward, showing his consent.   
“That whore?” Cersei interrupted again, suddenly flinching forward onto the edge of her seat. “What more could she possibly do? I already have to put up with her following my daughter around everywhere. I will not have that bitch fawning over Joff as well!” Cersei roared. Roose and Tywin sat, unflinching, though Roose couldn’t help but be amused by the withering look in Tywin’s eyes.  
“It will not be for long. Just until these rumours have passed. Roose assures me that the girl speaks to no one but himself and her brother about her work. Whatever occurs between her and Joffrey will remain confidential, and she does as she is told. You would be wise to take a leaf from her book, daughter.” He gave her a look that demanded silence, but Cersei refused to obey.  
“The girl is a whore. God knows how many men she has been with! And what if she gives Joff something? She doesn’t use protection, Tyrion told me. He said that was another reason she was so fucking good. What are the chances she’s spreading STD’s as well as her legs?” Cersei glowered at Roose who remained unperturbed by the murderous stare.  
“I can assure you that the girl is clean. I have her checked regularly by a private doctor. A specialist in the matter. My son has had her undertake surgery that will prevent her from conceiving, if that worries you at all.” Roose met her gaze; challenging her to continue her argument.  
“And when did she have that surgery done, hm? When she was nine? Or younger, perhaps.” Roose did not deign to answer. “You’re sick. All of you. And I will not have that girl near my son!” Cersei began to march from the room, then paused and turned back, retraced her steps and picked up the glass of wine she had left on the coffee table, before reassuming her dramatic exit.  
“She will do as she is bid.” Tywin said once the door had slammed shut.  
“I’m sure she will.” Roose turned back to face him, smiling knowingly. He and Tywin related when it came to problems caused by unruly children.  
“And the girl. You are certain she can handle this?”   
“Like you said, she does as she is told. Though I shall see to it she knows there is no other choice in the matter.” Roose assured.  
“It will not be what she is used to. She will have to be seen with him in public, not just his bed. This must appear to be some form of relationship, not some carnal affair.” The corners of Tywin’s mouth were pulled down in disgust.  
“Effie will know her place and what she must do.” Roose rose from the chair, sensing the meeting was drawing to an end.  
“Good. I shall see to it that you are rewarded for your services and for your loyalties, Mr Bolton.” Roose would not have said he glimpsed fondness in Tywin’s eyes, but he did glimpse some form of relief. Relief that he had found someone as likeminded as himself. Bowing his head, Roose mirrored the look before striding from the room, feeling satisfied with the day’s events so far.


	10. Heated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Turning my memories  
> Hoping to find out  
> where all the loyalty's gone

The heavy metal seemed to go right through her and made her bones shake. Effie laughed as it tickled her insides but after a while she grew tired of it. Passing Gilly with a silent nod of acknowledgement, she could tell the maid was tired of it too, not that she would complain.   
Abandoning her gym bag at the bottom of the stairs for Gilly to clear away and wash later, Effie bounded up the stairs; feet pounding at lightning speed until she was on the top floor. Ramsay’s floor. The music was coming from his bedroom, though it was hard to tell by how loud it was.   
One song died down and finished but before she could call out the next one started. Effie recognised it from somewhere, but all rock songs sounded the same to her.  
She continued on to his bedroom and opened the door without knocking. It wasn’t as if Ramsay could hear it anyway. Leaning against the doorway, Effie watched with amusement as the twenty one year old-going-on-five year old leapt around the room in nothing but his boxers. “The pleasure is to play, makes no difference what you say,” Effie bit down on her fist to hold back her laughter. “I don’t share your greed, the only card I need is the ace of spades.”  
Striding across the room, Effie turned the iPod dock off.  
“What the…ever heard of knocking Eff?”  
“Ever heard of trousers?” She laughed back, searching through his draws until she found a clean pair of jeans, throwing them in his direction before taking a seat on his bed.  
“You know you have your own floor, right?” He asked, yanking on the trousers and slumping down at the desk beneath the large bay window. Effie just shrugged. “Where’ve you been?” Ramsay was partially distracted by his laptop, but Effie answered anyway.  
“I was using the gym over at Myrcella’s.” Her brother grunted in reply. “She’s invited me round later for a sleepover.” That did earn Ramsay’s attention.  
“Aren’t you working tonight?” His eyes narrowed slightly. Effie toyed with the corner of his duvet. “Not that I’m aware of.” She admitted. “Anyway, what have you been doing? Besides rehearsing for X Factor.” Rolling his eyes, Ramsay turned away from her.  
“Working. Hunting.” He shrugged.  
“I really ought to buy you a tweed suit.” They both laughed at the old joke.  
“It’s not that kind of hunting.” He chuckled, turning back to his computer.  
Even four storeys up, they could still hear the front door open and close. “Father had a meeting with the Lannister’s.” Ramsay informed. Effie frowned. What could they possibly want now? Effie had spent enough time with the Lannister’s to know that they weren’t what the media claimed they were.   
Cersei was the one she had spent most time with, and the one she liked the least. It was a mutual, veiled hatred, and they had come to the conclusion that as long as they did their best to stay out of each other’s way, they would both scrape by unscathed. For this reason, Effie was not all too thrilled about staying at Myrcella’s tonight. What’s more, Effie was certain Cersei knew what she was and what she did. It wasn’t surprising really. Effie had worked for a lot of people. A lot of people Cersei was close to. Her husband. Her father. Even her brothers. Everyone knew everyone in the high society circles, and Effie knew many especially well; well enough to know a number of things about Cersei Lannister that prevented the woman from exposing the secret the Bolton’s held so close to their black hearts. And then of course there was the secret Jaime had unknowingly confessed and did so time and time again every time she worked for him. Not that Cersei knew of that. Jaime was adamant no one could know that he required her from time to time. He had had Mr Bolton sign a form too so that he had the deal in writing. “It is only for a while.” He had said before they had begun that first time, though he seemed to be saying it more to himself than her. That ‘while’ had turned out to be nigh on ten months. Effie had put the pieces together herself; ten months ago, Jaime had lost a hand. Clearly, Cersei had been put off by it and Jaime had had to find an outlet somewhere else ‘for a while’ until Cersei had come to terms with it. So far, she hadn’t. Effie wouldn’t have minded if she did. As far as Effie could tell, Cersei was the only woman Jaime had ever been with, and it didn’t seem to take much to please her. Unlike the dreams of many girls and women, Jaime Lannister was something of a disappointment.  
“Afternoon.” Roose Bolton’s voice startled the both of them. Effie’s head snapped up and Ramsay span around on his desk chair; the amused smile on his face gone in an instant. Roose never usually ventured further than the second floor, let alone all the way to Ramsay’s rooms. He wasn’t alone either. Locke was with him. Effie rarely saw or spoke to Locke. It’s not like they had much of a reason to cross paths. He worked outside in the grounds. Effie’s work was based inside. Ramsay got along with the man well, but she could tell that even he was concerned by the sight of both Locke and Roose at his bedroom door.  
“How was the meeting?” Ramsay asked. Effie just stared at the two men, waiting for an order.  
“It went as well as was to be expected.” Roose replied. Then his gaze fell to Effie who stared back expectantly. “Effie, I have a job for you.” _There it is_. Effie said nothing because there was nothing to do but wait for the command.  
“She can’t work tonight. She’s going to a sleepover.” Ramsay used a squeaky, mocking voice that sounded shockingly similar to Myrcella. Effie smiled her impish smile at him, then continued to look at Roose. “A sleepover?” Roose raised an eyebrow.  
“It’s Myrcella’s birthday next week. Her mum said she can have a friend over.”   
“And she chose you?” Effie nodded. “Good. You can start immediately then.” Roose moved further into the room, hands clasped behind his back, staring down at her frowning face. “This job is not like the others Effie.” She swallowed nervously. “Joffrey Baratheon’s relationship with Sansa Stark is at an end. Tywin Lannister requires you to take her place in order to save the boy’s public image.”  
“Which he ruined by driving the girl mad!” Ramsay butted in. He was leaning forward in his desk chair now, glaring angrily at his dad. “You want Effie to be in a relationship with that little blonde shit?”  
“A relationship?” Effie gasped. It was a word she wasn’t all that familiar with. “Mr Bolton, I don’t know…”  
“There is nothing to know. It is the same as usual, only he calls back the morning after and you are seen together in public regularly. You do what couples do. You will work for no one else whilst you are with Joffrey, is that understood?”   
“And how long will she be with him? Everyone saw the Stark girl break down. It took her about four years. I found that intriguing myself, but I don’t want that happening to Effie.” Ramsay growled. Raising an eyebrow, Effie glanced at her brother, shocked by his sudden vigilance.   
“The kid’s a spoilt little fucker. I bet he knows what she does too? Do you really think he’s going to treat her with any more respect than he did the Stark girl?” Ramsay continued.  
“I’m sure Effie can handle it. You’ve seen to it that she’s had enough experience Ramsay.” Roose didn’t even raise his voice. The words sent shivers down Effie’s spine and she stared down into her lap.  
_I don’t want to do this_.  
But when had that ever made a difference before?  
Ramsay continued to glower murderously at his father, but he slumped back in his chair and admitted defeat. Effie noticed that Locke looked somewhat disappointed; clearly he had been there in case Ramsay hadn’t backed down.    
“Joffrey doesn’t like me.” Her voice was barely a whisper.  
“Then make him like you.” Roose snapped back, slightly out of character, before turning away and striding from the room with Locke in tow. When Effie looked back at Ramsay, he had turned around; his attention fully on whatever it was he was looking at on his laptop.  
“You know this won’t end well.” She said to his rigid back. Silence was his only retort, but she could see his reflection in the window. His lips trembled with anger. And eyes blazed angrily; brighter from the glare of the screen.  
Standing, Effie went to leave and pack her bags ready for Myrcella’s sleepover. “Everything comes at a price, right?” She threw over her shoulder. Ramsay said nothing. For a moment, Effie wanted to stay with him; to just sit on his bed in silence. But she knew it wasn’t an option. There was work to be done.

To her dismay, there was no Myrcella in the car when Cersei came to pick her up. Tommen wasn’t there either. Effie almost wished Joffrey was there. The woman watched her from the moment she stepped out of the door. The sensation of being watched was unnerving, but Effie did her best to act normal. The hardest thing was to decide where to sit. Cersei’s hungry eyes gave no instruction. In fact she seemed to enjoy watching her struggle with the decision.  
Eventually Effie settled for the backseat, but made the mistake of sitting where Cersei could see her in the rear view mirror. “Good evening Mrs Baratheon.” Effie chirped cheerfully, forcing herself to smile.  
“Effie.” Was Cersei’s blunt reply.   
Silence ensued. Occasionally their eyes would meet in the mirror and Effie would feel Cersei beneath her skin; learning all her secrets. It made her squirm uncomfortably and she felt suddenly flushed. It felt as though she were overheating and she began to try and gasp for some air, all the while attempting to keep her discomfort to herself.   
After a while, it became too much.  
“Mrs Baratheon, would you mind if I put the window down?”  
“Whatever for Effie? I’m rather cold myself.” Her eyes glinted with malicious glee. Effie could smell a rat and glanced at the controls. The heating for her seat had been turned up to max. _You immature bitch._   
Doing her best to block out the uncomfortable heat, Effie tried to inflict Cersei with conversation. “So where’s Myrcella?” She asked with a voice so sweet it would rot all of Cersei’s perfect teeth.   
“She’s at home.” Cersei replied, her hands tightening around the steering wheel.  
“How did her riding lesson go?”  
“Fine.” The woman hissed. Effie smiled and made sure Cersei could see the pleasure she was taking in her discomfort. All thought of the unbearably hot seat was gone; frozen over by the joy of seeing Cersei squirm.  
“Does Joffrey like riding?”  
“What?” Cersei snapped.  
“Horse-riding? Sorry, I should have made that clear.” Effie raised her eyebrows knowingly in a way she knew would make Cersei’s skin crawl.   
“Joff prefers hunting and his quad bike. He used to ride horses, but not anymore.”  
“Hunting? My brother _loves_ hunting.”  
“Yes. I’m well aware.”   
“You mentioned Joffrey had a quad bike? That sounds like a lot of fun! Do you think he’d take me for a ride sometime?” Effie smirked at the endless euphemisms.  
“I’m sure you have your ways of persuading him.” Cersei glared at her murderously in the mirror. Despite the heated seat, Effie felt a shiver go through her.

The sight of Myrcella’s home was a welcome one.   
“I’ll drop you off Effie. I need to go and get some things that Myrcella wants.” Effie was certain Cersei had people working for her that could do that, but she wasn’t about to remind her.   
“Ok. Thanks Mrs Baratheon.”   
“Cersei is fine, Effie. I’m sure we are going to be seeing a lot more of each other.” The woman hissed through gritted teeth. Effie smiled and climbed out of the car. The dress she wore was so short, she was certain Cersei had caught a glimpse of her underwear. She hoped she had. Any promiscuous behaviour was now more likely to irk Cersei than it had before. Of course, before today, she would have sat in silence and endured the heat and done her best to stay out of Cersei’s way. But if annoying Cersei was the only joy Effie would get out of this job, then she was going to make the most of it.


	11. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smile, the worst is yet to come  
> We'll be lucky if we ever see the sun  
> Got nowhere to go, we could be here for a while

It wasn’t hard to find Joffrey. He was stretched out along the sofa flicking through music channels and drinking a beer. Effie stood in the doorway and observed him for a moment. He grimaced each time he drank. He didn’t tap along with the music or anything, in fact his mind seemed far away.  
“Hi.” Effie stepped into the room. Joffrey looked up and then looked away again, but Effie carried on regardless. _This wasn’t my fucking idea you little blonde shit._  
“You got any more of those?” She nodded towards the bottle of beer.  
“Yes.” He didn’t look up.  
“Can I have one?”  
“They aren’t for kids.”  
“I’m seventeen.” She couldn’t hide the bitterness in her voice. Joffrey turned his head to look at her for a second time and it were as though he were seeing her for the first time. For a moment it looked as though he might get up for her, but then he turned back to the TV. “Beer is a man’s drink.” He scoffed.  
“Oh really?” Before he could protest, Effie crossed the room and took the bottle from his hands. Lifting it to her lips, she watched him as she downed the rest. Effie had tried beer before but she wasn’t all that familiar with alcohol. Mr Bolton wouldn’t let her drink it as she was underage and there were always people taking photos at social events so she wasn’t allowed to drink there either. Even so, she managed to down the beer without so much as grimacing. Once it was empty, she smacked her lips and offered the empty bottle to Joffrey who snatched it back angrily. “You owe me another beer!” He whined.  
“And you owe me an apology. It looks like neither of us will be getting what we want.” Effie shot back, smiling and trying to make a joke out of it. Clearly, Joffrey wasn’t amused. He continued to glower at her and none of Effie’s smiles could melt it. _Well this is going well._  
“Effie!” Their gazes broke as they turned to see Myrcella in the doorway; excitement making her green eyes shine. “Effie, what are you doing in here?” The young girl asked.  
“Nothing.” Turning away from Joffrey, Effie redirected her winning smile at Myrcella. “Come on.” She said, heading back across the room and swaying her hips with every step. At the doorway she glanced back. Joffrey might be mad at her, but it hadn’t stopped him from looking.

The fact that Effie didn’t wear pyjamas somewhat complicated the prospect of a pyjama party, but she’d done what she could and had settled for a pair of shorts and her ‘I Met God She’s Black’ t-shirt. She felt guilty at the look of disappointment on Myrcella’s face when she’d stepped out of the bathroom in her t-shirt and short shorts while Myrcella wore proper pyjamas; silk and floral and bright pink.  
They both sat on the bed in bored silence. “So…what do you want to do?” Effie asked. She’d never been to a sleepover before and wasn’t exactly sure what they should be doing.  
“I don’t know. You’re the guest, what do you want to do?”   
“Dunno.”  
“We have an hour until dinner.” Myrcella informed, as though that helped them with deciding what to do. “We could tell each other secrets?” Effie shrugged at the suggestion.  
“It’s still light. We could go for a walk?” Was her idea.  
“But, we’re in our pyjamas.” Myrcella frowned. Effie smiled and waggled her eyebrows before leaping up off the bed and yanking on her boots. Laughing, Myrcella followed suit and they ran downstairs and burst out the door. Effie stopped to drink in the fresh air. The beer she had downed had made her feel a little queasy. “So where should we go?” Myrcella asked.  
“You have fifteen acres! Enough with the planning. We need to be spontaneous!” Effie laughed, heading off around the side of the house.

It wasn’t long before the sound of a quadbike speeding across the grounds was heard.  
“What is _he_ doing out here?” Myrcella moaned once they caught sight of the quad. Effie smiled when she realised he was headed straight for them. He didn’t slow down until he was almost on them, slamming on the breaks so hard the quad skidded and showered them with mud. “JOFFREY!” Myrcella screamed holding out her arms to show the extent of the damage. She was splattered with mud from head to toe and the look on her face was so comical that Effie couldn’t help but laugh. She herself had a fair amount of mud on her, but she didn’t mind.  
“Nice bike.” She laughed. Joffrey looked at her like he had done earlier; as though he were seeing her for the first time.  
“Thanks.” He smiled. The boy was handsome, she had to admit, but looks were deceiving. Jaime Lannister was handsome too but that didn’t stop him from being a sanctimonious cunt.  
“Mind if I have a ride?” Effie smiled that Effie smile reserved for clients. Joffrey’s petulant smirk stretched into a knowing smile. “Sure.” Clearly all memory of the beer incident had been wiped away.   
“EFFIE!” Myrcella stomped a foot as she climbed on behind Joffrey.  
“What?” Effie asked, getting comfortable behind him.  
“This is supposed to be _my_ sleepover.” The girl whined. Effie did feel guilty. She didn’t mean to ruin Myrcella’s fun, but Mr Bolton had given her a job and she didn’t know what he would do if she didn’t obey. “It’s just a ride around the grounds Myrcella. Go and get changed, I’ll be back in in a minute.” She promised. Myrcella’s reply was drowned out by Joffrey revving the quad in impatience. “Where do I put my hands?” She asked, loud enough so only Joffrey could hear.  
“You figure it out.” His tone was irritable and reminded her of Ramsay’s when his patience was wearing thin. Effie shuffled a little closer to him and wrapped her arms around his waist; tightening them as they set off at a pace she was sure had sent another wave of mud over Myrcella.  
For a time, Effie forgot that it was Joffrey she was with, or that she was supposed to be working. The feeling of flying over the earth at breakneck speed was liberating. The wind whipped at her hair and bit her cheeks.  
_Any moment…the quad could turn at any moment and that would be it. The end. My end.  
_ The closeness to death was terrifying and exhilarating. “Faster!” She yelled. “I want to go faster!” Joffrey did, and was rewarded with Effie’s grip on him tightening; her breath kissing his neck and her breasts pushed against his back. Where one field connected to another there was a shallow dip. They didn’t slow down and the quad flew through the air for a second. Effie didn’t scream. Effie smiled and laughed at the feeling of suspension; the not knowing if they would land or not. They did and Joffrey began to slow the quad down, despite how far they were from the house. Effie felt an uneasy feeling settle at the pit of her stomach. She’d rather they were going at breakneck speed over open fields again.  
Joffrey brought the quad to a stop and switched off the engine before swinging one of his legs over so that he could look at her more easily. “My grandfather says I’m supposed to pretend to be dating you.” The abruptness of it took her back slightly but she tried not to let it show.  
“Mr Bolton said the same to me.” Effie admitted.  
“Mummy says you’re a whore that we should all stay away from. But I’ve decided to go along with it.” _Bullshit. You’re going along with it because you’ve been told to, just like me._ “You are kind of pretty in a dark, grungy sort of way. But you are going to change how you look a bit.”  
“Change how I look?” Her face creased with disdain.  
“Yes. You look like a slut. If you are going to be mine, you have to be no one else’s. And you have to do whatever I tell you to.” She was beginning to understand why he had driven his last girlfriend mad.  
“Fine.” The agreement came through gritted teeth.  
“And you’d better prove to me that you’re worth my time.” The blonde boy smirked his most petulant smirk. Effie smiled back, slid her hand around the back of his neck and pressed her lips against his, slipping her tongue in as soon as he opened his mouth. For all his insults and orders, Joffrey seemed quite willing to have her kiss him. When his hand slipped around her waist and he tried to pull her closer, Effie broke away, tilted her head and smiled. “I’ll be worth every penny.” She promised, sliding away from him, signalling that they should be heading back.  
Back at the house, before she climbed off the quad, Joffrey held her hands in place tightly and turned his head to speak to her again. “Come to my room tonight, once Myrcella is asleep.” Effie considered that to be highly unfair on Myrcella. It was the girl’s sleepover and it was easy to tell how excited she was over it. But this was business, and she’d be asleep anyway. Effie could sneak back to Myrcella’s room before she woke up and Myrcella would be none the wiser.  

After a brief period of sullen silence, Myrcella was back to her normal sweet self. Joffrey disappeared into his room and Effie participated in a number of activities associated with sleepovers. After a dinner of pizza and chips, they ate cookie dough, watched chick flicks and played twister. They attempted a game of dares but soon ran out of ideas that wouldn’t get in Cersei’s way, wake Tommen up or disturb Joffrey. Effie had suggested telling ghost stories too, but Myrcella didn’t like scary things.  
“In bed by midnight Myrcella.” Cersei had ordered. Myrcella had rolled her eyes but by twelve she was in bed and a blow up mattress was on the floor ready for Effie to sleep on. Whilst Myrcella was brushing her teeth in the bathroom, Effie tested her escape route. The mattress squeaked a little and there was a creaky floorboard three paces to the right side of the bed, but other than that Effie’s route was clear.   
It took a while for Myrcella to fall asleep, probably due to the excessive amount of sugar they had both consumed. No doubt another trip to the gym would be needed tomorrow. The minutes felt like hours and Effie began to wonder what Joffrey would have her do. She had agreed to do whatever he wanted. She’d had to.  
_But he drove Sansa mad._  
Effie had begun to hang around with Myrcella while Sansa and Joffrey were still together. She still remembered the social gathering she had attended three years ago. Joffrey had been laughing at her and called Sansa over so he could share the joke. Effie vividly recalled how pitiful the girl had looked. But things wouldn’t be the same for her, would they? Effie was used to this. Sansa Stark had come from a well-known family and lived in comfort until her parents died in a tragic car accident, her eldest brother with them. The children had all been put into care. The Lannister’s had ‘saved’ Sansa from that trauma. But Effie knew the Lannister’s well enough to know that they hadn’t saved the girl at all. Many times she had come over and heard crying coming from Joff’s room. Mr Baratheon might have stepped in were he not away on business so often.  
She was so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed Myrcella’s gentle snoring at first. When she did, Effie wondered how long the girl had been asleep for. The longer she waited, the more irritated Joffrey would get.   
Keeping a close eye on the sleeping princess, Effie slowly slunk from the bed and padded from the room, testing each floorboard before putting her full weight on it, just in case she had missed any earlier. Outside the bedroom the floor was all thick carpet and Effie breathed a sigh of relief. She tried to keep her breathing steady as she made her way down the hall towards Joffrey’s room, but her tight grip on the hem of her shirt did not loosen. After her clothes got muddy, Effie had only the shirt she planned to wear that day, but it would do as a night gown too so that had been what she’d worn. It was perhaps a little shorter on her eighteen year old self than it had been when she was a scrawny fourteen year old, but that made no matter. Effie was used to wearing clothes just that bit too short.  
_I’ll have to dress differently now. I agreed to.  
_ She had almost reached Joffrey’s door when the hallway light blinded her. Spinning around, Effie tripped over her own feet and fell onto her arse with a dull thud. “Oh fuck.” She hissed as pain shot up her back.  
“Going somewhere Effie?” Cersei stood at the top of the stairs, her hand resting casually on the light switch. Wincing, Effie stood up. She didn’t even bother trying to come up with an explanation for what she was doing outside Joffrey’s door. “He told me to go to his room once Myrcella was asleep.” She admitted, hoping Joffrey could hear them from inside his room so that she wouldn’t have to explain.  
“Get back to bed you little whore.” Cersei growled loud enough to make Effie flinch. When the woman moved towards her, Effie could tell she was drunk. “Or I could always call Gregor to take you home. I’ll promise to pay on his behalf too. It was quite a nasty business last time, wasn’t it? How long were you in the hospital for?” Effie could feel the blood drain from her cheeks and her heart beat a little bit faster. On trembling legs, she hurried past Cersei and went back into Myrcella’s room. Her breathing was ragged and panicked and she stood still for a moment, hoping the darkness would subside. It wasn’t until she was breathing regularly again that she realised Myrcella wasn’t in her bed. From the ensuite bathroom, Effie heard a sniffling sound. “Shit.” She muttered under her breath, walking over to the bathroom and knocking on the door. “Myrcella?” She called.  
“Go away.” Myrcella whimpered in reply.    
“Myrcella, c’mon.”  
“No! Of all the…you could get any guy…why?” Her voice was more of a wail than a whimper now.  
“Can we not talk about this through a door?” Effie stepped back until Myrcella’s tear-streaked face appeared.   
“I thought you were my friend!” The girl cried tearfully, wiping her nose.  
“I don’t have friends.” Effie did her best to hide the pain from her voice. She was fond of Myrcella. Despite her fucked up family, she was a sweet girl. Effie didn’t want to hurt her. _But I had to. Everything has a price._  
“No, because you don’t trust anyone! You don’t put in any effort Eff. I always invite you to mine. You know everything about me and I don’t know anything about you. You just appeared out of nowhere! I’ve never even been to your house. You’ve never introduced me to your brother. Were you worried I’d sleep with him? Like you are with my brother?”  
“What? Myrcella, no…it’s…it’s more complicated than that…”  
“No it’s not! I tell you everything. You know how horrible he is! All I wanted was for you to sleep over and for us to play games and tell each other secrets.” Myrcella threw the door open wide and charged past her, throwing herself onto her bed. “I don’t want to talk to you ever again!” She wailed. Effie stared at her for a moment. “Myrcella…” It was hard to tell if she had heard her beneath the duvet.  
At a loss of what else to do, Effie got back into bed and stared up at the ceiling until it was a reasonable time to call Ramsay and have him pick her up.


	12. Seeing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools,  
> But that's the way I like it baby,  
> I don't wanna live for ever,  
> And don't forget the joker!

He stood at the entrance to the footpath, waiting with his back towards her; staring up at the trees. He didn’t even hear her until she was on him. “JOOOJEEENN!” Was the battle cry as she flung her arms around his neck.  
“Shit!” The other boy muttered weakly through the tackle. When she let go, he was staring at the ground mournfully. When following his gaze, Effie spotted a spliff dying amongst the grass. “And I thought you were supposed to be the sensible one.” She raised an eyebrow.  
“I am. They help with the fits.” He shrugged his bag back onto his shoulder and they set off down the footpath.  
“Bringing them on or stopping them?”  
“Stopping them.” He said nonchalantly, as though he hadn’t just been dragging illegal substances into his body. “Speaking of toxic substances, what is this?” Jojen held up a paper that screamed ‘Young Love?’ with a picture of her holding hands with Joffrey. Effie shrugged. “When did you start reading The Sun?”  
“When did you start dating guys like Joffrey Baratheon?”  
“Haven’t you heard?” Snatching the paper from his grasp, she turned the pages until she found the article. “ _Of course, we’ve spent a lot of time together before. Effie’s my sister’s best friend. I always knew there was something special about her. Of course, nothing could happen because of Sansa. She was so fragile. Anything could have pushed her over the edge. Then came the news that her brothers’ orphanage had burnt down. It all became too much_.” Effie did her best impression of Joff, then read on to her section. “ _Yes, Joff was very gallant about it. He made sure Sansa had settled and he told her about us first so she wouldn’t be shocked by it. We waited until the Summertime Ball before we went public with it. It was such a magical evening! We danced the first dance and then kissed and that was when everyone knew.”_ Jojen snatched the paper back and did his own impression of Joffrey. “ _It was also when I knew that I loved her and that I had the most beautiful, brilliant girl in the world! And she’s all mine_!”  
“Vomit-worthy isn’t it?” Effie wrinkled her nose. Ramsay had read it all out loud at breakfast through fits of laughter.  
“So do you have to learn a script for these things?”  
“How did you know?” Effie gasped sarcastically. “Now put that thing away before I have to go home and call in sick.”  
“Not a bad idea. Today’s only going to be about UCAS and university and ‘what comes next’ anyway.” Jojen predicted.  
“And what does come next, seer boy?” Effie joked.  
“You’ll marry Joffrey by the look of things!” He shot back.  
“Ouch! No fucking way!” Perhaps that last comment came out a little too quickly, but Jojen let it slide. He was good at that. He could always tell when she didn’t want to talk about something or needed comforting. She never told him anything about her private live and nor did he. They both had their secrets. That was why they got on so well. It was only on the walk to the bus stop though. They never actually spoke in college. Effie would hang around with whoever she felt like hanging around with and Jojen would sit with his sister in the library.  
“So what’s Joffrey like? You know, behind closed doors?”   
_Spoilt, petulant, generally a complete twat._  
“He’s nice, you know. We don’t talk much, we just…”  
“Shag?” Jojen cut in.  
“No. We haven’t done anything like that.” It was true. Effie was pretty sure Cersei had employed people to stop Joffrey from taking her to his bedroom, or anywhere that wasn’t public. Even the gardener had interrupted them once on the grounds. A part of Effie was sure that that was a good thing, but another part knew that the longer they waited the worse it would be.    
“I didn’t think you’d be walking today. Hasn’t Meera learned to drive?” Effie asked, changing the subject.  
“Yeah, but I managed to convince her to let me walk by confessing my undying love for you.” Jojen always said things so seriously it was sometimes hard to tell if he meant them, but this was an old joke.  
“Of course. Everybody loves me!” She proclaimed, holding her hands up to the trees and dancing off down the path, leaving a laughing Jojen in her wake.

As Jojen had predicted, the first day of college was dedicated to deciding their futures, which instantly put Effie into a quiet mood. She walked around the ‘It’s Your Future’ fair wondering if she even had a future that wasn’t dictated by Roose. Would he let her go to university? Would he pay for it? She somehow doubted it and wasn’t sure if she was brave enough to ask. Besides, what would she study? Effie had always loved art and she was quite good at drama. She took history too.   
Throughout the day, her teachers asked her what she was thinking about doing next year. Her answer was always a shrug and “I’m not sure yet” to which they would reply “You’re a very bright girl, you should go to university”. One even asked her what her alternatives were besides university. “If you aren’t going to university, we want to know what you’ll be doing instead.” She’d stared at the teacher for a long time wondering if “spreading my legs for any man or woman Mr Bolton tells me to” was an appropriate answer.  
The teachers weren’t the only ones who asked questions. Everyone wanted to know about Joffrey. Effie hardly had time to eat her lunch because of the amount of questions she was asked by fellow students.  
By the last hour, tutor period, Effie was exhausted and just wanted to leave. She was in the drama teacher’s form, but the teacher was not one she recognised. “Hi everyone!” She was very pretty with hair more silver than blonde and strange purple eyes. “I’m Dany. You might not have seen me around last year. I’m a new teacher, but as your form tutor I will make it my responsibility to get to know each of you, even though you only have a year left. The time will fly by and you’ll all be off to bigger and better things.” Effie would have hated her optimism were the woman not so cool. She let them listen to music while they filled in forms and surveys and she let them go half an hour early. Of course Effie had to wait for her bus, but she appreciated half an hour of quiet time in the library, leafing through University prospectuses and trying her best not to allow herself to dream.

As usual, Jojen could tell that she was in no mood for joking around. They walked back from the bus stop in silence with Jojen rolling another spliff as they went. “Want one?” He asked.  
“No, thanks. I don’t do that sort of stuff.” She reminded him.  
“You might want to soon.” He replied.  
“What?” His gaze was focused on something ahead of them. Standing at the gate, leaning casually against it, was Joffrey. He glared at Jojen; pouting angrily.  
“Joff. What are you doing here?” She asked, surprised to see him.  
“Thought I’d meet you after college. You know, like couples do.” He answered, still glaring at Jojen.  
“This is Jojen Reed, a friend of mine.” Jojen lit his spliff and nodded his head in acknowledgement. Joffrey slung an arm heavily around her shoulders. “Shouldn’t you be heading home, Jojen?” Joffrey scowled. Jojen shrugged. “Sure thing. See you Effie.” Smiling, Effie winced as Joff pulled her out of Jojen’s way.  
“I thought I said you couldn’t be anyone else’s while you were mine.” Joff’s voice was quiet and threatening.  
“Jojen just walks the same way home as me. We don’t even hang out at college. Ask anyone. Now, back to my place? Ramsay and Roose shouldn’t be back for two hours at least.” Effie raised an eyebrow suggestively, longing for the dark look to leave Joffrey’s face. Pursing his lips, he nodded and they both set off towards her home.

Gilly didn’t even blink as Joffrey chased Effie up the stairs to her floor. Slamming the door behind them, he pushed her back onto the bed. “Finally.” She heard him mutter. His kisses grew savage and he tore at her clothes, the clothes he had picked for her. Soon enough she was down to just her underwear, but Effie wasn’t ready to go any further yet. Rolling him over, she pinned down his arms and ground her hips down against his. Joffrey moaned her name and tried to fight her grip on his arms. “Not yet.” She breathed between kisses. “Not yet.” It shouldn’t have seemed that big of a deal, but the truth was she just wasn’t ready to give herself to Joffrey completely. He was so controlling. She wanted to be in control for once. “Not yet.” She growled again, grinding her hips harder as she grew angrier. The rage was unexplainable but she felt it. It burned through her and controlled all her movements and thoughts. When she felt the bulge in his trousers, she grew angrier. “Not yet.” She snarled again. Somehow his shirt was off and she clawed at him angrily. It was frightening her, but she couldn’t stop. She wanted to snap out of it…maybe if he hit her…something wasn’t right. Something inside her…it wasn’t right…  
“Effie, just fuck me would you?” Joffrey whined. She was about to slap him when she heard a toilet flush upstairs. Effie stopped. She could tell something was amiss. Gilly always cleaned the house from top to bottom, she wouldn’t be upstairs at this time of day. Ramsay wasn’t home yet either.  
“Who _is_ that?” She gasped, staring up at the ceiling. Before Joffrey could even complain, Effie was off him and striding across the room. “Effie!” Joffrey yelled. “Effie, come back here!” He ordered. Ignoring him, Effie climbed the stairs in nothing but her bra and knickers. “Effie!” Joffrey called again, climbing the stairs after her. “You’re supposed to do as I say!” Effie crossed the corridor into Ramsay’s room and began to search for anything unusual. Circling the room, her brows furrowed as her eyes fell on something that was neatly folded over the back of Ramsay’s desk chair. If Joffrey spoke again, she didn’t hear him. Smoothing her hand over the fabric, she lifted it up and held it out. The Harrington was a deep burgundy. When Effie held it under her nose, she almost coughed from the strong scent of cigarettes. “I remember this.” She muttered to herself.  
“Effie, if you don’t come back downstairs with me right now I’m going to beat you until you beg me to stop. Do you understand? You will not disobey me again. You won’t ever disobey me again, do you hear?”  
No. Effie didn’t hear.  
“This jacket…it…it belongs to…”  
“Me?” Effie whirled around at the voice. Damon stepped into the room in just his jeans. He glared at Joffrey. “And what was that you were saying to her?”    


	13. Crushed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got a warm heart,  
> you've got a beautiful brain.  
> But it's disintegrating

Effie quickly managed to snap out of whatever it was that had been controlling her.  
“You think you can threaten her and speak to her like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?” Damon strode towards Joffrey; fists clenching and unclenching.    
“I’m her fucking boyfriend, who the fuck are you?” Joffrey retorted, though as Damon got closer, she could tell Joffrey was getting anxious. Damon looked at her then. Effie held her breath as he looked her up and down. “Some things never change, do they Eff? Still running around with hardly any clothes on.” It was meant as a joke, she could tell, she just didn’t feel like laughing. “What d’you say Eff? Should I punch the little fucker’s lights out?” With lightning speed, Damon had Joffrey by the back of the neck. His fist was raised, ready to strike and their foreheads were touching. She could hear Damon breathing heavily, causing Joff to whimper. The boy was trembling. “Please…” He sounded close to tears.  
“Let him go.” Effie growled. Damon didn’t hear her at first. “Damon. Let him go.” He turned his head to look at her; his fist shook and for a moment she was sure he would ignore her. But then his fist lowered and gently patted Joff’s cheek. “Now beat it before I beat you, kid.” From his grip on Joff’s neck, Damon shoved him roughly towards the door, making Joffrey cry out.  
“What a pussy.” Damon laughed, slumping down onto Ramsay’s bed. Effie stayed silent. “Well? You gonna give us a hello or what?”  
“You stay up here until Ramsay gets back.” Effie muttered, heading towards the door.  
“Eff. Eff!” She stopped and turned around. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here yeah? Just Ramsay.” The look on his face was pleading. Effie made no promises and left the room without another word.

Ramsay never usually saw Effie before dinner. She would always be studying or whatever it was she did in her room. When he saw her standing in her bedroom doorway on his way to his own floor, he knew something was up with her. It wasn’t just the strange appearance either; her face was blank and vacant, as though her thoughts were miles away.  
“You okay, Eff?” He asked before he stepped foot on the set of stairs leading up to his rooms. She snapped out of her trance and looked at him, her eyes a mixture of anger and confusion. “Damon is in your room.” She told him, her voice flat and dead.  
“Damon?” Effie just raised an eyebrow as though she suddenly couldn’t care less. Without explaining any further, she turned her back on him and went back into her room. Ramsay considered scolding her for it but then relented; his curiosity getting the better of him. He took the stairs two at a time, despite how drained he felt after work, and didn’t break stride until he was in his bedroom. Damon was wondering around, inspecting the room with nothing but a towel around his waist. His fair hair was still wet from his shower.  
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ramsay growled. Damon span around, all the blood draining from his face. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed nervously. Ramsay said nothing for a time, allowing his old friend to suffer before his face split into a grin. “Every fucking time!” Damon laughed. Exchanging a brief, brutish hug, Ramsay wrinkled his nose. “You reek of smoke.”   
“You don’t. Quit did you?” Damon sat down on the bed.  
“Dad made me.” Ramsay shrugged, sitting down beside him and kicking his shoes off.  
“You’ve landed on your feet here. I was thinking about just doing a sweep of the place and being on my way, but I thought I’d say hi first.” He looked quite a bit older, but the goofy grin hadn’t changed.  
“You’ve seen Effie already then?”  
“Hard not to. Can’t go to the fucking shop without seeing her in the papers. But yeah. She must have heard me up here. Came to investigate, had some little blonde prick on her tail.” Damon grinned darkly.  
“Joffrey? Yeah, he’s a prick.” Ramsay agreed. He didn’t like Effie having to deal with the little shit, but there was nothing he could do about it. She seemed to be doing well enough on her own anyway.  
“Well I sent him on his way.” Damon laughed.  
“You what?”  
“Little fucker was threatening her. Said he was going to beat her until she begged him to stop. He was such a pussy. All I had to do was raise a fist to send him running and screaming for his mummy.” Ramsay stared at him until the smug look was gone from his face. “What?”  
“Do you have any idea who that boy was?”  
“Joffrey something? I recognised him kind of, but no. Why?” Damon frowned.  
“That was Joffrey fucking Baratheon. You know, teen idol Joffrey Baratheon. Model. Socialite. The rich twat all the girls fancy. The Justin Bieber that is British and can’t sing.”   
“Oh…well. Girl beater too, apparently.” Reclining on the bed and resting on his elbows, Damon didn’t seem all that worried. They both sat in silence for a moment.  
“So what are you doing here Damon?” Ramsay asked eventually. Damon stared down at one of his hands. “I’m in some pretty deep shit man.” He confessed.  
“Who with?”  
“The fuzz.” Damon shrugged.  
“Why?”  
“I’ve been dealing a bit more than I should’ve.” The boy genuinely looked worried.  
“What do you need to deal for? Your mum’s pretty well off, isn’t she?” Ramsay was beginning to wonder what Damon was doing here and how his dad would react if he knew there was a criminal under his roof.  
“I’m an adult now aren’t I? Besides, I needed the money for something.”  
“For what?” Damon shifted uncomfortably.  
“Myranda and I got together a while after you left. We’ve been dating for a few years, you know? And well, you know what it’s like, eventually the girl expects you to…to err…” He trailed off when Ramsay sat up and turned to face him.   
“You _proposed_?”   
“Kind of.”  
“To _Myranda?_ ” Damon shifted uncomfortably again. Ramsay wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be angry. Myranda had been his once.  
“Yeah. But she wasn’t all that happy with it. I made it all dead romantic and stuff, you know, took her out for dinner. Then she saw the ring and asked where it was from and sort of flipped out.”  
“Why? Where was it from?”  
“Argos.” Ramsay started to laugh. Myranda was lucky to get anyone to marry her, but Damon’s cluelessness was hilarious. “You fucking…that’s fucking brilliant…”  
“Hey, not all of us are fucking minted you know! And I just thought…a ring’s a ring…”  
“How many times did she hit you?” Ramsay asked through fits of laughter.  
“We got thrown out of the restaurant.” Damon wasn’t laughing. His cheeks burned red. Ramsay laughed harder. The laughter dragged on for the next minute or so until Ramsay was sure his stomach would burst.   
“Okay…okay…so how does this lead you to dealing?”  
“Well I figured I needed more money to get her a better ring and I needed it fast. Seriously, that bitch is like Gollum when it comes to rings. She was threatening me and all that and we got into a few fights. I had Ben pressuring me too. He didn’t want her under his roof anymore, so I started dealing to get the money. I got pretty good too. But then someone must have ratted me out, probably that Greyjoy guy. You know the one, you took Jeyne off him.”  
“Theon.” Ramsay curled his lip in disdain.  
“Yeah, that’s the one. Man, I swear the moment you were gone he fucking infested the place. Anyway, everyone knows he’s the dealer on the estate, so I guess he told on me. Managed to climb out the window when the police came knocking and here I am!” Damon explained, spreading his arms.  
“And Myranda?”  
“Oh…I dunno. Can’t say I miss her all that much. She’s a fun shag but terrible company. Wasn’t all that thrilled about marrying her to be honest, but I worried I’d start finding glass in my food before long.” Ramsay nodded in understanding. Before he’d left, Myranda had started slipping in hints about marriage. Thank fuck he’d escaped that one.  
“So what do you want from me?” He asked. There was no way Damon had come here just on a social visit.  
“I…um…I was wondering if maybe I could…err…stay here? It wouldn’t have to be for ages or anything. Just until I…I dunno…find my own feet, or something.” Damon looked at him hopefully. Ramsay sighed. It was a big ask and he felt that familiar mixture of anxiety and fear he got whenever he had to ask anything of his father.  
“I can’t make any promises, and I’ll have to speak to dad. Come on.” Ramsay stood up and went to his drawers to get some clean clothes for Damon. “Best to say I invited you. He’d call the fuzz on you himself if he knew you broke in. Or he might just deal with you himself.” He informed, throwing clothes over his shoulder while he spoke.  
“Cheers Ramsay.”  
“And Damon…” He turned to look meaningfully at his friend and show he wasn’t kidding. “You’ll owe him one.” Ramsay warned

She was in her den, on the sofa reading a book on some artist, but she set it down the moment she saw him. Ramsay closed the door behind him and moved towards her. He watched her as she moved her feet so there was room for him beside her. Effie hugged her legs tightly with her right arm and chewed anxiously at the skin on her middle finger on the left hand.  
“Has he gone?” She asked quietly, staring at her knees.  
“No. He’s talking to father.” Ramsay replied, looking around her room. He hadn’t been in here much. Effie preferred her den to her bedroom and he rarely liked to disturb her while she was in there. It was perhaps a little darker than the last time he’d come in, with more band posters on the walls.  
“Why?” Her gaze moved so that she was looking at him, though a curtain of hair had fallen across her face.  
“Eff? What’s up? Why are you glaring like that?” He had to admit that the look was chilling, like something out of a horror movie. The hair meant the light dappled across her face, casting sinister shadows. She still chewed on her finger too and her grip on her knees was tight enough to dig in and whiten the flesh around her fingers.  
“Is it Joffrey? Damon said he threatened to beat you.” Ramsay probed. He longed for a reason to call the whole relationship idea off and have things return to normal. At least then he could keep a better eye on her.  
“Why is _he_ here?” She hissed through gritted teeth.  
“He’s going to stay here for a bit. Do some work for dad.”  
“No.” The sound was so small he wondered if she’d said it at all.  
“Eff?”  
“I don’t want him here.” Through the curtain of hair, he thought he saw her snarl.  
“Fucking hell Eff, there’s no need to get all exorcist-y.” Ramsay laughed. Then he thought of another thing to laugh about. “Or is this just because you used to be in love-“

It was a reflex. Effie stared at her own hand, shocked by its brazenness. She looked it up and down, searching for the trigger or the nerve that his words had hit that caused her to strike out. So intent on her hand, Effie never saw her brother’s look darken. The laughter was gone. Before she even had time to look at him, Ramsay was on her. Effie yelped as she felt his full weight pushing her down.  
“You think you can hit me do you?” He growled. It had been a long time since he had behaved like this. With their own floors, it was easier to avoid one another if they were in a temper and Effie had learnt how to keep her mouth shut. In the time since he had last lost it with her, she had forgotten how terrifying it could be. Helplessly, she writhed underneath him, clamping her eyes shut to close the monster out. Effie couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so meek and helpless. She stopped struggling and resigned herself to her fate.  
“Ramsay…I’m sorry…” She whimpered.  
“Don’t _ever_ think you have a right to hit me. Not ever. Do you understand me?” He growled, pressing his full weight onto her. Crushing her. Effie nodded. “You owe me everything, remember? I could have left you there. I could never have taken you with me. Twice I have chosen to take you with me, to keep you out of danger. To make sure you didn’t get hurt. You owe me your life Effie.”  
Effie didn’t think he was aware of it, but Ramsay was grinding against her, caught in the heat of the moment. He must have realised when he got hard, because that was when he got off of her. He almost looked ashamed of himself and went to turn away and leave.  
“What’s wrong Ramsay?” She called. Her voice made him stop. The feeling of helplessness was rapidly slipping away, replaced by a sudden anger, and a hatred for him that she had never felt before. The emotions were so mixed up and hurled forwards so quickly they frightened her. They controlled her words like she was only an empty vessel for them to control.  
“Disturbed by your hard on? It’s not like you haven’t done it before, is it big bro?” She stood up and moved towards him on shaking legs. “You remember don’t you? I don’t. Why is that Ramsay, huh? Oh yeah, it’s because you drugged me and raped me while I was unconscious. That’s brotherly love for you. But hey, it was all to make it easier for me, right? Later on, when you used me to pay for your drinking and the drugs.   
“Yeah, thanks for saving me. It’s all been pain free. I’ve loved every fucking second. How very kind and thoughtful of you. You must get it from our dear mother.”  
The backhand sent her crashing to the floor. By the time she regained consciousness, her brother was gone.


	14. Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then a woman, she screams  
> It's a terrible night  
> As the mood changes to dark from light  
> Tell the doctor what's become of me  
> So you can analyse, analyse my dreams

Dinner that evening was a sullen affair. Damon seemed blissfully unaware of the tension, much to Effie’s irritation which she expressed with frustrated glances. She hardly touched her food. Her cheek was still throbbing and pain shot through her teeth every time they ground together. Ramsay’s mood seemed just as black as her own, despite his cheerful guest.  
“Top notch.” Damon muttered through a mouthful of chicken and ham pie.  
Roose appeared oblivious to his appalling table manners. Effie could feel his eyes on her instead and she felt the familiar sensation of her skin being pulled back and her thoughts being sucked out.  
“Why is there a bruise appearing on your cheek Effie?” Glancing up at Ramsay, Effie slumped back in her chair and arched an eyebrow. He could explain this one. Of course, Roose required little explanation. He probably knew what had happened the moment they sat down for dinner. “Ramsay, why is there a bruise on Effie’s cheek?” Ramsay paled and stabbed angrily at his meal.  
“We had an argument.” He muttered.  
_Why don’t you tell him what it was about?_ Effie thought the words and spoke them with her gaze. She wouldn’t dare to say something like that in front of Mr Bolton.  
“You are aware she is in the papers regularly? What will people think when they see a bruise on her cheek?”  
“That Joffrey is hitting her.” Ramsay growled.  
“Yes. And the Lannisters won’t appreciate that rumour resurfacing. Did you not consider that before you hit her?” Ramsay began to stab more viciously at his pie. _No, he was too busy considering other things._  
“That Joffrey kid _was_ planning to hit her though. Threatened to beat her if she didn’t do what he said.” Roose’s cold gaze turned on Damon. Effie winced as her teeth ground together.  
“I’m sure she can handle it. Effie understands the way things are, don’t you Effie?” She nodded but didn’t speak. That feeling of helplessness had returned. She could feel herself falling; her thoughts and feelings spiralling out of control. While Roose continued talking, she absent mindedly picked up her knife and began to cut the lukewarm food.  
“Effie, you will stay off college until that bruise has faded. You are not to leave the grounds unless I give you permission, is that understood?” Effie nodded again; eyes fixed on the meat as her knife cut through it so effortlessly. It wasn’t as though there was any point her going to college anyway, considering she was most likely going to spend the rest of her life working for Roose and her brother.  
_You owe me your life Effie._  
The feeling of hopelessness felt as though it had solidified into lead inside her.  
“Damon, you will remain here too until I can clear things with the police. I’ll ask Locke if there is any work for you around the grounds. You can keep an eye on Effie too.” Roose ordered before continuing to eat, signalling the end of the conversation.  
“Sweet.” Damon slumped back in his chair and grinned that goofy grin at her. Effie pushed her tongue against the teeth that didn’t ache and glared at him before looking away in disdain. The helplessness rapidly gave way to frustration. It was a welcome relief though, and she allowed it to fill her and drown out the memories of the foolish little girl that had dreamed of love as if it existed.

Despite her certainty that her future was as out of her control as her emotions, Effie did her best to keep up with school work while she was absent. She messaged people in her classes, asking for notes or summaries of the lessons so she could research and study at home. Everyone was more than eager to oblige her. Effie was certain she was caught up, perhaps even ahead of the others in history and art. Drama was difficult to keep up with as they had been put into groups for their devised piece. She’d logged onto the college email and had been surprised to find a number of emails from the new drama teacher, Dany, with documents attached; each with an in depth description of what her assigned group had done for each lesson.  
Effie was usually good with her studies, but this dedication was unprecedented. A part of her knew it was simply to avoid other things, though she tried her best to deny it.  
Fortunately, Damon spent most of his time with Locke around the grounds, so their paths only ever crossed at mealtimes. She hadn’t spoken to Joff either, figuring he would be better with some time to cool down.  
The bruise was taking a long while to fade and by the end of the first week, Effie longed to escape the walls of her den.  
“You should go outside and get some fresh air. All this…it isn’t good for you.” Gilly advised one morning. Gilly didn’t often speak to her, so she knew she must look as bad as the mirror said she did. Her skin was pale and dark shadows had settled under her eyes. Effie was certain they were more due to sleepless nights then lack of air. In the darkness of her bedroom, she’d find it impossible to make sleep come. For a while now, she’d been plagued with nightmares. She could never recall what occurred in them, but she’d always wake up in sheer terror, panting and whimpering into the pillows. This past week, her brain had refused to let her rest. Even if she managed to doze off, she’d still find the nightmares waiting for her.  
Perhaps it was the lack of sleep that caused her emotions to run riot. At times, she’d be fine. In fact, she’d be more than fine. But more often than not, it was that heavy helplessness.  
Nevertheless, she thanked Gilly for the advice and forced herself to smile kindly. At lunch time, she went for a walk around the grounds. Mr Bolton owned a vast estate. When she had been younger, Effie had gone out walking every day and had gone exploring by herself. As she got older, she’d started running the tracks she had explored to keep in shape. She hadn’t gone out there for a while now though. It hadn’t changed, and she did feel slightly better for the fresh air.  
Suddenly though, the air didn’t seem quite so fresh. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke filled her nostrils and drove her away, but not before he’d spotted her. “Oi, Eff!” Rolling her eyes, Effie turned around to face him. “You trying to run away or something?”  
“No.” She crossed her arms and tilted her head. Damon took a pull of his fag and looked her up and down. “Come here, sit down.” It was an invitation, not an order. He was already sat on a log, looking down the hill into the neighbouring fields. Effie knew she should go back to the house, to just turn her back on him and walk away like she should have always done. Instead, she sat down next to him on the log, bringing her knees up and staring into the distance.  
“Haven’t seen you around much.” He grinned.  
“Are we talking this past week or three years?” She asked bluntly, not so much as glancing at him. Damon just laughed and then they fell silent. Effie wasn’t going to spark any conversation.  
“You look different.” He tried.  
“Again. Three years. It’s a long time to change. Not that you have.”  
“I have.” He insisted. “I’m way more…like, you know…manly.” Damon insisted desperately. Effie almost smiled.  
“And there still isn’t a speck of mud on your Harrington.” She said without looking at him.  
“Yeah, well…it was expensive.” He took another pull of his fag.  
“You probably could have bought ten of those jackets, the amount you smoke.” Effie wrinkled her nose as the smoke blew towards her. Damon turned and looked at her for a moment. She watched him in her peripheral vision. He held the cigarette out to her.  
“I don’t smoke.” She stated, still not turning to face him.  
“Why? What you scared of?”  
“I’m not _scared_ of anything.” Effie snapped.  
“Then smoke.” He extended his arm so the fag was right in front of her face. “You only live once.” He waggled his eyebrows.  
“Don’t ever try to YOLO me again.” She smirked. Damon just waved the cigarette around. Effie took it. Just to shut him up.  
“I don’t know how.” She admitted, holding it in front of her lips.  
“Put it between your lips. Pull, inhale, hold, and exhale.” Despite his instructions, she still coughed violently until her eyes watered. “Well at least you didn’t throw up.” He laughed.  
“I could…it felt like poison…in my lungs…”  
“Yeah, you get used to that.” He shrugged.  
“I’m not sure I want to.” Damon frowned at her and she tried the cigarette again. It was a little easier, but she still coughed. “No regrets?” He grinned.  
“My whole life seems to be one big fucking regret. Smoking is the least of my problems.” Effie snapped, taking another pull.  
“Woah, what’s with the dark shit? And why so fucking miserable. I remember you used to fucking light up like a Christmas tree whenever I walked into the room.” He nudged her with his elbow and winked.  
“Like I said. Three years. It’s a long time. I grew up. Had time to think about stuff.” She took another pull and stared into the distance, not wanting to look at that grin anymore. “So come on then, how have you changed, besides becoming more…manly.” She raised an eyebrow sarcastically.  
“I got engaged.”  
“What? To who?” It was more shock than anything. Effie thought maybe she’d cry about it later, if the mood hit her. Not that she cared.  
“Randa.” Damon kicked at the dirt.  
“Randa. As in Myranda. As in ‘Oh Ramsay, fuck yes, harder, fuck yes’ Myranda?”  
“Well it was more ‘Oh Damon, fuck yes, harder, fuck yes’. But yeah. That’s the one.”   
“Your impression is on point.” Effie laughed. “Did she tie you to the bed too?”  
“Every fucking night! I swear I still have marks on my wrists. At times it’s like I can hear her too, you know, like when you’ve killed a bug but you can still hear it buzzing.” His tone was incredulous, and his expressions so animated. Effie couldn’t stop laughing. It were as though it filled her head. She was having one of those happy spells again, and she revelled in it.  
“So how did you escape?” She asked, putting the cigarette between her lips again. The warmth that filled her felt slightly less toxic.  
“Got into a bit of trouble with the fuzz. Had to get out before I got put in the slammer didn’t I? Didn’t really get the chance to say goodbye.”  
Suddenly, the warmth inside her grew a little colder.  
“No. You never do.” If Damon was troubled by those words, he did well not to show it. They both sat in silence for a while, taking in the scenery.  
“So how have you changed? Besides becoming more…you know…grown up.”  
“Now that’s telling. Not sure I can say, otherwise they’d kill me.” She said dryly.  
“Why? Who am I gonna tell? It’s not like I can walk into a police station is it?” Effie stumped out what remained of the fag and turned to look at him.  
“In all honesty, not much has changed. I fuck the person brought to my door, someone else gets paid for it. Same as always, right?” And suddenly the darkness came back. She wanted to scream at him, to make him pay for all the lies he told her. That they all told her. For how he pretended to care because it was amusing; the little school girl crush. She wanted to make him realise that he had been the only thing that had made her happy. That had made life bearable.  
“Eff, you’re trembling.” Damon pointed out, frowning at her.  
It was so close…so close to the edge…she wasn’t sure if she could hold it back…  
“Eff…” He grasped her upper arm.  
“Don’t!” Effie tore away from him. “Don’t touch me.” She whispered. Before she could lose control, Effie turned away from him and hurried back towards the house.


	15. Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanna be a bottle blonde  
> I don’t know why but I feel conned  
> I wanna be an idle teen  
> I wish I hadn’t been so clean

She didn’t speak to Damon again after that. Her days seemed emptier and lonelier with each passing day, and she was certain only one person could understand and explain these emotions that seemed to control her every waking moment. It were almost as if he sensed her need for him as well.  
“Effie, there is a young boy here for you!” When she heard Gilly call out those words, Effie was initially filled with dread, thinking that Joffrey had come to claim what he believed was his.  
When she saw it was Jojen at the door, her fear gave way to joyful relief. She joined him outside, fearing what Mr Bolton might do if she let him inside without his permission.  
“You haven’t been at college. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”  
“I’m fine.” She lied.  
“You’ve got a bruise.” He pulled out an old fashioned pipe from his pocket.  
“I walked into a door. She lied again. But when had either of them told each other the truth? That wasn’t why they were close. Jojen just nodded and smoked his pipe. Effie inhaled the smell and closed her eyes. As the scent of smoke filled her head, a sudden wave of daring swept her away.  
“I need you to give me something.” Effie stepped towards him.  
“Like what?” He didn’t sound surprised at all.  
“You know,” She whispered, glancing at the pipe and then back at him. “I want to _feel_ something. Anything. I need to let go. No regrets. You’re my friend, help me.”  
“Sure.” Jojen shrugged, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, retro tin. “Just take it.” He said, offering it out to her. Inside were two spliffs already rolled up. “You rolled them already?” She smiled. Jojen nodded and continued smoking his pipe. Shoving the tin into her pocket, Effie said “Now you can sell the story to the press.”  
“I’d never tell.” Jojen frowned. “You aren’t okay at all are you?”  
“Yeah I am.” Effie insisted.  
“You aren’t.” His eyes searched hers.  
“I ask for a couple of spliffs and suddenly I’m off the rails?” Effie joked, but the helplessness was creeping up her spine. She wanted to tell him he was right, but she couldn’t think of the right words.  
“Just a few things. Firstly…”  
“Effie? Eff, who you talking to?” Damon appeared at the door with just his jeans on. “Who’s this?” He asked, walking out to join them. “He giving you grief?” Effie flinched as he swung an arm around her shoulders.  
“I’m Jojen Reed, a friend from college.” Staring at Damon as though he knew everything about him, Jojen offered a hand and did well not to wince as Damon crushed it in his own. They all stood for a moment in awkward silence. “Well, can I help you with something?” Damon asked, staring at Jojen expectantly.  
“No. I’m just here to see Effie.” Jojen stated plainly.  
“You’ve seen her. So you can fuck off now.” Effie rolled her eyes irritably.  
“Thanks for coming to see me Jojen.” She offered him a small smile. Jojen returned it with his own, though she could see the worry in his eyes. “See you again soon Effie.” He said sadly.  
“See you mate.” Damon cut in. Jojen looked at her one last time before heading back up the driveway, smoking his pips.  
“Get all the lads, don’t you Eff?” Damon grinned.  
“Fuck off Damon.” She muttered, shoving his arm from her shoulders. Heading back inside the house, she willed him not to follow her. That falling feeling that seemed frighteningly familiar to her now returned; it were as though each emotion was a handhold and she was losing her grip on helplessness. Effie had learned to fear what the next one would be; it was always impossible to predict. What’s more, it was out of her control. Like everything else was.  
“Eff, quite running off would you?”  
She kept walking. She was falling faster now. Every step up sent her another six feet deeper. The wind roared past her. Something snatched at her arm and she found a handhold.  
It was rage.  
“Has that boy done something to you?”  
“Get off of me! Let go! Just…please stop…let me go! Stop following me! Let go!” She screamed, unaware that Damon had released her a few seconds ago.  
“Eff! Seriously babe, what’s up with you?”  
“What do you care? Why do you? You never cared before. I fucking loved you! I loved you. You were the one good thing in my shitty little life. I loved you because I thought that unlike everyone else you actually gave a fuck about me. But you didn’t. You’re just like everyone else. If anything you’re worse, because you pretended! You pretended to care and I was just some fucking joke between you and your friends. The stupid little girl with the school girl crush. But hey, even better, she’s a sensational fuck and worships me like I’m some fucking God! It wasn’t like that for me Damon. I can still remember everything. I remember that your favourite song is Ace of Spades by Motorhead and that you have a tattoo of a cross because you thought it looked cool, and that the only thing you love more than your Harrington jacket is your little brother!” Her head ached from the long suppressed memories and she clutched her head in her hands, trying to make the pounding stop. “Do you even remember our first time? Do you? It was your fifteenth birthday. You and the guys went out and got drunk and when you got back…Ramsay probably offered it as a gift. He didn’t make his friends pay on birthdays. You were pretty drunk when you stumbled into my room. Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was? How happy I was that it was you? I’d seen you before. You were so…I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you. The thought of actually being with you scared me senseless. And then…I think you were the best thing to ever happen to me. You actually made me feel special and…and wanted.” Hot tears burned her cheeks, stoking the white hot rage. Her voice was hoarse from the screaming. “You made me feel wanted! No one has ever…no one but you…” Effie slowly backed away, her head and heart throbbing in agony. “I have to…I need to go…get out of here…I can’t…” She staggered away from him before she could strike out and hurt him. Once she was in her bedroom, she released her anger on the only person she could reach. Her face split, cracked, and fell away as her fist hit the mirror. Effie collapsed onto her knees, oblivious to the shards of glass she fell on. Looking down, it were as though she were on water; her reflection stared back, shimmering and broken. Never quite whole. The shards were so sharp. So sure of themselves. Effie set her hands down so that she was on all fours and stared down at her broken face, taking in the moments where one reflection ended and another began; the defined breaks between the sharp shards.

When her phone rang, it was impossible for her to tell how long she had knelt there for. It were as though she had no recollection of her thoughts or how she got there. Wincing and suddenly fearful of the glass scattered around her, Effie slowly stood up, cursing at the cut on her hand. It wasn’t deep though and she could see no blood in it. Her knees were fine too, but they shook as she went and found her phone on the desk in her den.  
Effie paused for a moment and took a deep breath, staring down at the screen with a sudden sense of dread.  
“Hi?” Her voice was only slightly louder than a whisper as she forced the greeting out.  
“Come over.” Joffrey commanded.  
“I can’t…I mean, I’ll have to ask Mr Bolton for permission first.” Her tongue kept threatening to trip over the words.  
“No, you come over now. What did we agree?”  
“That I’d do whatever you say.” Effie thought she might vomit.  
“Exactly. Now get over to my house.”  
“Okay, but it might…” The line went dead.  
Effie’s breathing was ragged and sharp. She swallowed nervously and wiped her hands on her jeans. Had she not felt the hard tin in her pocket she might have noticed there was a blood stain from the cut on her hand. Effie pulled out the retro tin Jojen had given her and felt her hand catch on another handhold. Daring. She smiled to herself and switched off her phone; setting it back down on her desk before making her way out the room.

“I told you to come at once.” Joff growled as he marched up the driveway, glancing over his shoulder anxiously.  
“Well I had to sneak out and then walk to the bus stop.” He didn’t seem to be listening to her and the feeling of daring faltered as he grabbed hold of her wrist, dragging her after him. “Joff, Joff you’re hurting me.” She muttered.  
“What? Right, sorry.” He mumbled, loosening his grip and sliding his hand into hers, though it still hurt.  
“Joff, what’s going on?” He was dragging her past the entrance of the house and they were heading around the side.  
“Joffrey! Myrcella won’t let me watch CBBC, and Young Dracula is on and I want to watch it!” They both turned to see Joffrey’s little brother Tommen running after them. Joff let go of her immediately and stormed towards him, his face thunderous. He grabbed his little brother by the collar so roughly Effie gasped. The blood drained from the little boy’s face.   
“You didn’t see us okay? Effie isn’t here. Do _not_ tell mother, understand?” Joffrey growled, his face so close that Tommen had to turn away to avoid their lips meeting.  
“Y…yes I understand.” The little boy sobbed. Effie pitied him but couldn’t bring herself to speak in his defence.  
“Good, now fuck off.” Joffrey shoved him back towards the house and hurried back over to her, grabbing her wrist again in an iron grip. This time it didn’t loosen. Not even when she cried out. He dragged her around the house to the side entrance, probably used by the servants. Effie had never been to this part of the house before and no wonder; it was dark and dreary and smelled of damp. Joffrey didn’t seem to notice. He still refused to answer her questions and shushed her once they reached the more recognisable part of the house. They hurried up the stairs and he let her go the moment they reached his room.  
“Joff, what are you doing?” She asked, rubbing her wrist. He smiled that petulant smile at her. “We are going to do what we should have done the last time I saw you.” He raised his eyebrows in what she guessed was supposed to be a suggestive gesture.  
“But, Myrcella and Tommen…”  
“Are downstairs.” He finished for her. “I warned you what I would do if you ever disobey me again, didn’t I?” He stepped towards her. “You owe me Effie.” He whispered, his hand cupping her cheek gently. Before she could say anything, his lips were over hers.   
“Joffrey!” Cersei’s voice made them both jump and Joffrey pulled away, his face clouding over.  
“For fuck sake.” He growled. “Stay here and be ready for me when I get back.”  
_So I’ll just wait for you with my legs spread shall I?_  
Effie nodded and stood still as stone as he left her there. She listened to his feet as they pounded the stairs, then Cersei’s cheerful greeting. Effie slid her hands into her pockets and was once more reminded of the gift Jojen had given her. Pulling the tin out, Effie smiled to herself.

When he deemed his mother drunk enough to not notice and his siblings had gone to bed, Joff went up to his room. Effie was, to a degree, ready for him. She was sat cross-legged on his bed in nothing but her underwear, staring up at the light as though it were something she had never seen before. He closed the door quite loudly behind him, but she didn’t turn her head. “Effie!” He called. She turned to look at him there and a smile stretched across her face. She started to laugh a girlish little giggle before turning back to stare at the light. Joffrey sighed and started to remove his clothes. He took her in as he undressed. She _was_ hot, in that grungy kind of way. And he could do whatever he wanted with her. She was getting paid for this after all.  
Once undressed, he headed over to her. She was still focused intently on the light. Goose bumps crept over his skin as a breeze flooded the room. “Why did you open the fucking window?” He hissed. Effie giggled again in reply. He went and closed it and turned to see her slumped back onto the bed; smiling a goofy, relaxed smile, still staring at the light. Why was she acting so weird? Effie was normally so cool and just did as she was told.  
_Well, if she isn’t going to obey…  
_ “Effie, take off your underwear.” Joffrey ordered. She turned her head to look at him and laughed again but she didn’t move. Joffrey gritted his teeth in frustration. “Effie. I said. Undress.” He spat. Effie laughed harder. “Stop laughing at me!” He snarled. She laughed even harder. Tired of the laughter, Joffrey went to his knees and pulled the riding crop out from beneath his bed. He hadn’t had a chance to use it since Sansa, but now he did. Her laughter was almost forgotten as he became excited over the thought of the crop biting into her pale flesh.  
“Effie, if you don’t do as I say, I’m going to beat you.” Joffrey warned, holding the crop up for her to see. Effie stared up at it, her smile slowly fading. Joffrey grinned as she tilted her head, taking it in. “Beautiful.” She breathed.  
He brought the whip down hard on her stomach, smacking the cry out from her. Effie lay on the bed, panting in shock and staring up at the light. She sat up and turned to him.  
“Again.” She ordered.  
“What?”  
“Hit me again.” Effie got onto all fours and crawled over to him. “I want to _feel_ something.” Grabbing the arm that held the whip, she pulled him closer. “Hit _me._ ” She urged. “I dare you.”  
Joffrey brought the whip down with an almighty _crack_ , causing her to gasp and her thigh to go red He brought the whip down, again and again, all over her body; his anger and frustration driving him on. How _dare_ she enjoy this! She was supposed to scream and cry and beg for mercy.  
Blinded by rage, Joffrey had no recollection of when the laughter stopped. He only realised she had moved when his whip cut through empty air.  
“Get back on the bed.” He ordered through gritted teeth. But Effie wasn’t listening. She held out her arms, staring at each one in turn. Then her hands went to her hair and she started to brush and pull at it. “There’s something on me.” She said, brushing at her arms and body.  
“What?”  
“There’s something on me! Get it off. GET IT OFF!” She screamed. Joffrey moved around to the other side of the bed, grasping the whip tightly.  
“Stupid whore! Stop fucking around and _do as I command!”_ He struck her again. And again and again. The blows were everywhere; her face, body, legs. She beat and struck out at each strike until he stopped, shuddering and whimpering. “Will you obey now?” He growled.  
Effie’s fist crashed into his nose with a sickening crunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to update at all this weekend as I have an exam tomorrow, but Effie wouldn't fucking shut up in my head so here it is.


	16. Helpless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See I've got so many keys to these doors.  
> I feel trapped in here, but I still want more...  
> Let me out of here and please don't ignore me.

Effie did not leave Joffrey to scream alone. The two teens stood at arm’s length, one screaming in fear, the other in agony. Effie continued to swipe and brush her body, begging him to get whatever it was off of her.  
It wasn’t long before their cries were overheard.  
“What the fuck is going on?” Cersei’s drunken screeching was heard even above the screaming. As Joffrey turned to face his mother, Effie dived beneath the bed in a desperate bid to escape. “Oh my sweet boy! My baby!” Cersei stumbled over to her son, trying to make sense of the bloody mess. “Look what you’ve done you little bitch!” She screamed at the bed.  
Effie scrambled away when the monster’s face appeared, curling herself up into a fetal position and whimpering. “I’ll kill you! Cunt! Whore! You just wait until I get Gregor in here. Is that what you want whore? Want him to break you up like last time?” The trembling wreck clamped her hands over her ears and screamed loudly.  
“Get away! Get it off!” The girl begged.  
For a moment, she thought the monster would crawl after her and drag her out, but a softer tone seemed to soothe it like a mother would a child.  
“Mummy, what’s going on?” From beneath the bed, Effie glimpsed two sets of bare feet.  
“Go back to bed Tommen.” The monster snapped; her eyes seemed to glow in the darkness that surrounded Effie.  
“Mum, I think you need to call an ambulance. For Joff.” Came another voice, it was a little sterner but still soft. It was familiar too, and it calmed Effie some. Her whimpering ceased to sharp, panicked breaths that she tried to muffle with her fist.   
“Fine.” The monster snapped, retreating. The panic that had gripped her receded a little, but she still trembled, listening as the other screaming monster was dragged away. Eventually the sound of his wailing lessened and Effie was able to hear only her own ragged breathing.  
“Effie?” She flinched and whimpered at the voice, curling into herself more. “Effie I’m going to call Mr Bolton, okay? I’m going to get him to come and get you. You stay right there.” Myrcella’s voice was commanding but gentle. Effie nodded, even though she knew Myrcella couldn’t see her.  
“What’s wrong with her?” She heard Tommen ask.  
“I don’t know.” Was Myrcella’s reply. Effie waited until the two sets of feet were gone from view. “I don’t know either.” She confessed, tears spilling down her cheeks.

The house was quiet until Ramsay stormed in. The ambulance had already taken Joffrey and Cersei away and Myrcella was hiding with Tommen in his room. Ramsay didn’t even bother to look for anyone. He went up the stairs until he found Joffrey’s room, crouching down so that he could look beneath the bed. “Effie. Here. Now.” He growled. The girl beneath the bed whimpered in reply but did not move. Ramsay had to lie on his chest in order to fit beneath the bed and reach her. His hand wrapped tight around her ankle and he dragged her out, ignoring her fearful screams until she was out from beneath the bed, clamping a hand over her mouth as soon as he could. “What the fuck did you do?” He snarled. Again, she only whimpered. “WHAT DID YOU DO?” Effie cried out in reply, turning her face away from him when Ramsay took his hand away and pinned her wrists down. He stared down at her and took a deep breath. Then another. He leaned in so that his nose almost grazed her cheek and sniffed her, causing her to flinch away and whimper again. “Have you been smoking weed?” He asked in disbelief. Effie’s silence condemned her. “What the…where did you get it Eff? Tell me or I swear to god I’ll…”  
“Please, Ramsay, please get me out of here!” She cried, tearing her wrists out of his grip and grasping the front of his t-shirt tight, too afraid to let go. “Please…she said she’d get Gregor, please Ramsay. Please don’t let that happen again. You promised you wouldn’t. You PROMISED!” Effie screamed up at him. Ramsay’s eyes widened and the blood drained from his cheeks. “It’s alright Eff, calm down. I’m going to get you out of here okay? But you’re going to tell me everything the moment we get home, understand?” She didn’t seem to be listening. Relief had flooded through her and blocked out anything else. When he lifted her, her body was limp. Lifeless. As if a fire had gone out. If Ramsay was honest, it scared him a little.  
When he reached the car, Damon leapt out, leaving the engine still running, and opened the back door for them. “She alright?” He asked, eyeing her limp form.  
“Just drive okay.” Ramsay didn’t meet his gaze, worried Damon might glimpse the worry in them. Once in the backseat, Effie cradled in his lap, he checked her pulse over and over, just to make sure. Damon was silent for once.  
“Did you give her weed?” Ramsay asked after a while.  
“What?” Their eyes met in the rear view mirror.  
“She’d been smoking it, I could smell it. Did you give it to her?”  
“No! No fucking way man. She didn’t ask for it and I don’t have any.” Damon almost looked annoyed at his assumption.  
“Would you give it to her if she did ask for it?” Damon’s gaze turned back to the road. After a moment’s silence, he grinned. “I never could say no to that pretty face.” He chuckled. Ramsay smiled and looked down at her. He could hear her breathing deeply. The sleeping face looked a lot younger than her eighteen years. Ramsay wouldn’t call her pretty. He’d call her beautiful.  
Ramsay looked away and shuffled awkwardly in his seat, staring out the window. His angry reflection glared back; scrutinizing the unwelcome memories he recalled as they sped home.

Effie sat on the edge of her bed in just her old shirt, staring into nothingness. When Ramsay sat down next to her, she barely felt the mattress shift.  
“You okay?” He asked, though she sensed it was more of an obligation than actual concern that made him ask.   
She nodded.  
“You said you’d tell me everything once we got home.” His voice was cold and harsh now but Effie did not cower from it. It were as though her ability to feel anything was absent. She was absent. Though now, absence was probably a necessity she could live solely on.  
“Where did you get the weed from Effie?” He asked in the same hard tone.  
“A friend.” Was her flat reply.  
“Who?” Effie continued to stare into nothing, feeling neither fear nor guilt as she felt her brother’s anger start to boil. He grasped her chin and forced her head around to face him. “Effie. Who gave it to you?” It was more of a demand then a question.  
“Jojen.” She answered flatly. That seemed to be all he needed from her. His hand dropped away from her face and he stood up. Effie resumed her staring at nothingness as he left the room, looking up only when she realised she still was not alone.  
“You missed dinner. I thought you might be hungry.” Gilly smiled nervously, the tray in her hands shaking.  
“Thank you.” Effie muttered, standing and taking the tray from Gilly’s trembling hands.

Ramsay stormed into his room, making Damon sit up on the sofa. “What’s up? She okay?”  
“She’s fine. Come on.” Ramsay’s mouth was set in a grim determined line. Damon knew already he was about to do something impulsive, and that nothing Damon did would stop him. “Ramsay, where are we going?” Damon asked, shrugging on his jacket and hurrying after him. Ramsay rounded on him, the grim lips curving into a smile. “I’m going to show you what I do. You’re working for my dad now.” Damon couldn’t help but mirror his smile. Already, he could feel the adrenalin pumping around his body and by the time they reached the car, he was trembling with it.

Effie forced her leaden eyelids open when she heard someone in the room with her. “Ramsay?” She slurred.  
_No, that can’t be right. I heard him leave. He left…just before I…the food…_  
Effie forced her head around to see the tray on her bedside table; plate and glass empty of food and drink. She had been so hungry. She’d eaten it all. She hadn’t thought…why would she? Her head rolled back to face the ceiling again and she moaned, closing her eyes. It was too hard to keep them open, and she was tired of fighting. She couldn’t fight any more.  
“No Effie, open your eyes.” The sound of Roose’s smooth voice did wake her up a little. Fear forced her eyelids open and did not allow them to shut again. He had turned off the lights, though she could just about make out his face. His eyes shone like two moons in the darkness.  
“You’ve got me into a lot of trouble tonight Effie. And you disobeyed my orders. You’ve forgotten your place, haven’t you?” She nodded slowly; her throat feeling too tight and raw to speak. “I’ve placed a lot of trust in you. I’ve given you a life you could never have even dreamed of. But I was willing to take a gamble with you, and you’ve made me a lot of money. What do you think would happen if you stopped making me money Effie?” Roose’s voice was so soft, yet that seemed only to make it all the more threatening. Effie released a choked whine that might have been a sob. A tear rolled down her cheek. She was vaguely aware of his hands on her, but the drug had weakened her so much there was nothing she could do but lie there. Helpless.  
“I hate bad investments, Effie, truly I do. You had better prove to me that you are a worthy investment from now on.” His hand settled on her chest and she squirmed as he began to undo the buttons of her shirt. “I own you Effie Snow.” He brought his face in close and for a moment, the icy mask slipped, revealing the monster underneath. “Never forget that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating for a while. I've had exams this week, but only one left now. I can almost smell the freedom...


	17. Pointless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanna stay inside all day  
> I want the world to go away  
> I want blood, guts and chocolate cake  
> I wanna be a real fake

“Oh…yeah. Fuck yes! Just like that! Oh…”  
Effie rolled her eyes as she pogoed up and down.  
“Fuck yes. Cersei, yes, Cersei…Cersei… _Cersei_ …” As soon as she felt him come inside her, Effie dismounted and slumped down onto the mattress; Jaime still panting and ‘yessing’.  
“Wow.” Was her somewhat disinterested contribution. From her spot on the bed, she could see sunlight creeping across the sky. The nights were getting longer now, with winter closing in. She waited until Jaime got up before getting out of bed herself, putting on a t-shirt as quickly as possible. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, she watched him struggle into his trousers; grunting as he fumbled with the button.  
“Jaime, do you think you could thank Myrcella for me? For calling Ramsay the other night.” She asked flatly.  
“You know, I don’t think it’s a good idea anyone knows I’ve seen you.” He replied, struggling into a t-shirt now. “But tell Roose I’ll speak with father to settle matters.” He added, shoving his feet into his Italian leather shoes.  
“Right.” Effie muttered.  
Neither said goodbye to one another. It was easier to pretend nothing had happened.  
No one was up yet. Effie showered, scrubbing thoroughly at her skin. It didn’t make her feel any cleaner. Then she went and made her own breakfast, eating it half-heartedly while gazing out the window over the rolling hills. If she refocused her eyes, she could just make out her reflection. Dark circles had settled beneath her eyes once more after her night’s work. Jaime had been relentless. It seemed she would only get a few seconds of sleep before he was urging her to open her legs again.  
Still, despite the dragging fatigue, it was a relief to get out of the house and resume her normal routine of going to college. Perhaps normality would make her feel less…empty. She didn’t allow herself to hope. She wasn’t sure she was even able to.  
Jojen wasn’t at the gate to the footpath. She waited, for a while. Perhaps he was tired of her too because he didn’t show. _He probably gets a lift in with Meera now_.   
She thought returning to college would be a return to normality, and in some ways it was. But _something_ had changed. _It’s me. I’ve changed._ Not many people spoke to her. Girls glared. Some boys sniggered. But they were all still too scared to confront her. It were as though she were above them all. It was lonely up there.   
It was the first time she had attended lessons too and everyone had already chosen their seats, leaving her either on the edge or next to the loner. In history, she was sat next to Podrick Payne. She only found out his first name by reading the cover of his book. Rodrik Cassel, their teacher, referred to them only by their second names and the boy appeared to be too afraid to speak to her.   
Drama was a little easier. The devising group had to take her in and explain to her what was going on otherwise all their marks would suffer. Effie was careful not to give too many points in case it looked like she was stepping on Pala’s toes, who appeared to have done most of the work so far. Their given stimulus was World War One, and the group had chosen to focus on how it affected minority groups.  
Tutor time was perhaps the worst. After changing her course (again) Myranda Royce had been moved into her form and sat beside her. The moment she’d sat down, she turned to Effie and said “Christ Effie, you look like microwaved shit!”   
“Thanks.” Effie replied flatly, not meeting her gaze.  
“Sorry. I heard what happened though. Well, I read about it. Now magazine said you’d taken crystal meth. Is that true? It said you and Joffrey took it and then you punched him. Did you? I know he’s got a broken nose. My cousin took meth once. Fucked her up in the head real bad.”  
By the time Dany called an end to tutor, Effie’s head was pounding.   
“Effie, can I speak to you for a moment?” She called as the students filed out the door.  
“I’ve got a bus to catch.”  
“I know, this won’t take very long.” Dany smiled at her warmly and gestured to take a seat. Effie obeyed, sitting down but keeping her bag on her shoulder.  
“We haven’t seen much of you lately. Is everything alright?” The concern sounded genuine, but she _was_ a drama teacher.  
“I’m fine.”  
“You know that if your attendance goes below 85% you will have to pay for the exams yourself. College rules I’m afraid.” Dany chuckled.  
“I know.”  
Dany’s purple eyes filled with worry. Effie looked away, afraid of the pity she feared Dany held for her. “Are you sure everything is alright Effie? I hear you had some trouble with that boy, Joffrey Baratheon is it? Young hearts are so fragile but they’re easily mended. It just takes time.” Effie met the warm, worried gaze with her own.  
“Nobody breaks my heart.” She muttered coldly. “I’m going to miss my bus.” Standing, Effie hurried from the room without waiting for the nosy bitch’s permission.

On the mornings that she didn’t go to college, or on the days she didn’t have to go in at all, Effie went running around the land; through the woods at the far edge of her world. For a time, she could just forget everything and just focus on breathing properly and putting one foot in front of the other.  
One morning, she found herself at the spot she and Damon had smoked at, and paused to sit on the same log; bringing her aching legs up and resting her chin on her knees. She stared out over the rolling hills. A mist had settled over the valley, making it look like an ocean of smoke.  
So immersed in the view, she lost track of time. When Damon’s voice rang out behind her, the cold had seeped right into her bones and the aching feeling from running was long gone. “You alright?” He asked, sitting down next to her and starting to roll a fag.  
“I’m fine. That’s what you need to know isn’t it?” She said, still staring out over the hills.  
“Okay…what you doing out here then?”  
“Looking.”  
“Looking for what?”  
“The point.” Damon laughed at that.  
“Better give up now then princess, there ain’t none.” He chuckled, exhaling. They watched the smoke as it drifted away.  
“Why do we bother then?” She asked, frowning.  
“Why?” Damon turned to her. “Cos that’s life. You got to get in there and never fucking stop. Everyone tries to pretend there’s a point to it all.”  
“You don’t.”  
“Nah, because there’s other things to live for.” He held up the fag and grinned. “Just need to let go of looking for the point Eff.”  
“I’ve tried that. Didn’t go so well.” Effie replied miserably. Damon continued to grin. “Never try Eff. Just be.”  
“Are you trying to YOLO me again?” For the first time in a long while, Effie smiled. Still grinning, Damon stood up and walked away, leaving his fag on the log, still lit. Effie picked it up, worried it might catch fire. At least that was what she told herself. Holding it up, she watched it smoke and burn.  
“Fuck it.” She muttered, bringing the fag to her lips and taking a pull.

“Can we have some focus please?” Effie stopped listening to her group argue and they all turned to hear what Dany had to say. “Thank you. For your coursework it’s very important that you decide on a drama practitioner to influence your piece. You also need to know and use their techniques so you can write about them in your essays.” Dany cast a look around the students, her queer purple eyes finally settling on Effie. “Effie, can you give us a practitioner please?”  
“Stanislavski.” She shrugged.  
“And what is he renowned for?”  
“Making a piece of theatre look natural and realistic.” Her tone continued to be flat and disinterested. She could tell it was beginning to irk the new teacher. “Almost. He believed theatre should be about truth. The audience should connect to the characters emotionally. For this to be done, the actor had to become the character and feel what they feel. Now if you could all find your own space, lay down on your back with your palms up and your eyes closed.”  
The class obeyed instantly, lying down meant they didn’t have to do any strenuous work.   
“This technique is called emotional memory. Now, I want you to imagine you are lying down in a room that is familiar to you.” Effie groaned inwardly but tried her best to imagine herself in her bedroom. Dany asked them to vividly imagine what they were lying on, what it felt like, what they could hear and smell.  
“That was just a warm up to get your imaginations going. Now I want you to imagine the time you were most afraid.”  
_I’m never afraid.  
_ “Where are you? Is anyone with you? Try to capture the fear in that moment. What it felt like.”  
Effie struggled to remember the time she was most afraid. There were so many…it was so hard to tell which had scared her more. The memories all seemed to flood into her mind at once; a hundred voices whispering in her ear at the same time.  
“You owe me your life Effie.” Ramsay growled.  
“I hate bad investments Effie, truly, I do.” Roose whispered.  
“You’re dangerous.” Her mother screamed.  
Gregor’s words were incoherent. They came out as one terrifying roar.  
“Effie…EFFIE!”  
_No._  
“Effie, it isn’t real. Remember? It’s just a memory. It isn’t real.”  
They were grabbing at her…the faces…they laughed and screamed at her…  
“Effie!”  
Her eyes snapped open and she tried to scramble away from the faces. “No! Get away from me. Let me go!” She screamed, covering her face with her hands.  
“Effie, calm down. It’s Dany, your drama teacher. You’re okay. You’re safe.” The voice was soft, not like the others. Tentatively, Effie peered through her fingers. Dany was pale, her purple eyes concerned. The students all stood behind her, too shocked to be amused by the quivering wreck.  
“Continue with your devising, I want to speak with Effie in private.” Effie had calmed down enough to know that meant she needed to stand up. She did so on shaking limbs, taking deep breaths, still fearing the faces; glancing around nervously lest they be hiding somewhere in the classroom.  
“Effie shall we go outside?” Dany asked softly. She nodded and followed the teacher from the room, conscious of the other students watching her, fearing the faces may be amongst them.  
Once outside, Dany rounded on her with stern concern on her face. “Is there anything you want to tell me about?” She asked sharply.  
“No.” Effie replied coldly.  
“Come on Effie, what happened in there…you were screaming and convulsing on the floor. The emotional memory exercise has to be approached with a lot of care. It can cause a lot of trauma for actors and I’m sorry that I put you through it. But you need to speak to someone about this Effie. I’m your tutor and you know you can come to me with anything. Or you can speak to the college counsellor if you’d prefer.”  
“That’s really not necessary. I’m fine.” Effie smiled her Effie smile and narrowed her eyebrows scathingly. “We’re in drama class. I’m glad I created a believable performance.” Dany’s expression remained stern and unconvinced as Effie brushed past her and went back into the classroom; a smile still painted on her lips.


	18. Absent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spaces in between  
> Two minds and all the places they have been  
> The spaces in between

“I received a phone call from one of your teachers this afternoon.” Roose said at dinner. Ramsay stopped eating to stare at her. Effie ignored them him. “A Miss Targaryen.” He added. “She said she was concerned. You had some sort of…episode in class this morning.”  
“What kind of episode?” Ramsay asked, scowling.  
“She didn’t say.” The hairs on Effie’s arms stood up when she felt Roose’s gaze on her.  
“She’s my drama teacher. Apparently I pulled a very realistic performance. Had the whole class believing I’d gone mad.” Effie met Ramsay’s gaze. Damon laughed. “Nice one.” He grinned.  
“There are already rumours questioning your mental wellbeing Effie. It would be best not to provoke further speculation.” His voice was cold enough to make her shiver.  
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She lowered her head and focused on steadying her hands.  
“I should hope not. Now, onto other business. Ramsay and I shall be going away for a while.” From his expression, this had come as news to Ramsay too.  
“What? Where?” Her brother asked, frowning.  
“Mr Lannister has work for us in the north. In Yorkshire, I think. We’ll be gone for a couple of weeks, at the most, providing all does well.” Roose’s gaze switched back to her. “I trust you can keep your head down whilst we are gone?” Effie nodded. “Good, but just in case, Damon shall remain here with you.”  
“What?” It wasn’t often that Damon sounded surprised by anything.  
“You have proved to be loyal and have worked hard. I trust that you will be able to take care of the house while we are gone and make sure that Effie stays out of trouble.”  
Ramsay covered his mouth with his fist and Effie had to bite her cheek not to laugh.  
Damon was the embodiment of trouble.  
“Gilly will keep the house in order and we have Locke for the grounds. Effie will not be working while we are away so you won’t have to deal with any clients. Do you think you can handle this?”  
Damon grinned, glancing over at Ramsay. “Sure thing Mr Bolton.” He turned to look at Effie. Even she couldn’t help but crack one of her Effie smiles. There was something about Damon nowadays. Everyone else seemed distant to her; as though she were barely hearing them. Even Ramsay. Her brother had hardly spoken to her after what happened with Joffrey. He had come into her room once after a bad day at work and Effie had just sat there, unmoved by his anger.  
“Are you ignoring me?” He had asked in disbelief.  
“No.” She’d replied flatly.  
“Look Eff, whatever this is, it better stop. Dad won’t put up with this teenager attitude so drop it.” He’d growled before storming from the room to take his anger somewhere else.  
Damon was different though. Numerous times they had met again at the log. He joked around. She laughed. No one had made her laugh in a long time. She hadn’t forgotten how he had lied to her, but that had been partly her own fault; she’d been young and stupid. She should have known better. No one could ever love a girl as fucked up as her. A prostitute. Drug raped by her brother. Hated by her mother. They’d have to be a fool to fall in love with a monster like that.  
“That’s settled then.” Roose announced. They all resumed eating in their accustomed silence.

Damon grimaced as he took a swig from the bottle of vodka that Ramsay kept stashed in his sock drawer. “So, I get to play man of the house.” He grinned. Ramsay smiled. “Give us that.” He ordered, snatching the vodka bottle and taking a mouthful. Damon span around in the desk chair. “No parties. If dad comes back and finds so much as one vase missing you’ll be out on your arse.” He warned.  
“Fine. No parties.” Damon rolled his eyes.  
“If you want to have a girl though.” Ramsay arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure Effie would love to see Myranda again.”  
Damon winced, and not because of the vodka.  
“That’s over. For sure.” He muttered.  
“You called her?”  
“No. But it’s been weeks. She’ll have gotten the message by now.” He stared at the bottle in his hands.  
“You hope.” Ramsay smirked. Damon didn’t even break a smile. “You don’t want a girl here, do you?” He narrowed his eyes.  
Damon shrugged.  
“Or maybe she already is here, and I’m not talking about Gilly.” Damon’s head snapped up and he paled at the sight of Ramsay’s thunderous gaze. He held his breath. Ramsay waited until he had almost turned purple before cracking a smile.  
“You’re such a dick!” Damon groaned, taking another swig if vodka. Laughing, Ramsay slumped down onto his bed.  
“Seriously though. You want Effie?” Damon chewed his bottom lip but kept silent. “Have her.” Ramsay shrugged. “It’s not like you haven’t before.” They sat in silence for a moment.  
“You say it like you own her.” Damon muttered, frowning at the bottle.  
“Well, I do.” His friend said nothing to that, which was most unusual for him. “Truth is, you’re the only one who seems to be able to make her laugh nowadays. Have her. Fuck her every way you want. I’ll make sure dad doesn’t find out. But you’ll owe me a job or two.” Damon looked up at him and considered the offer for a moment before nodding his consent. “Oh, and probably best not to mention I gave you permission. She’s going through this weird attitude phase at the moment.”  
“Really? She’s still pretty pissed off that we used to pay you. She might prefer it if we’re honest.” He fiddled idly with the bottle lid.  
“Just don’t tell her. Let her think it’s just some whirlwind, caught in the moment thing. In fact she’ll probably be on you the moment we leave.” Ramsay smirked wickedly.  
“What makes you think that?”  
“I know Effie. She might not fancy you like she used to, but she still wants to fuck you. She might smile that stupid ‘you don’t know me and you never will smile’, but I _do_ know her. I can always tell what she’s thinking.”  
“What was she thinking when she smoked pot then?” Damon grinned.  
“She was thinking ‘I’m sick of this Joffrey kid’.” They both laughed. “I would have taken a lot more than that if I was forced to date that little shit.” Damon chuckled and took a deep drink of vodka, his mind wondering on how he would go about her once they were alone.  
“Seriously though mate. The moment we go out that door, she’s all yours.” He grinned, holding his hand out, demanding the bottle. Damon obeyed.

She could not recall the last time they had been away from one another. She wasn’t sure there had ever been a time. The distance frightened her, and so she had gone to his room in the hope of seeking comfort there. His scent still lingered, but the silence frightened her, and her fear brought the faces forth.  
Had the fear brought the faces or were the faces the fear?  
She stumbled around the room. Why did being closer to him frighten her? When she had brought up scary memories, why had he been one of them? He had always been at her side. She had always trusted him, and known that he would protect her. But now he was gone. Absent from her life.  
Absent. Away. Elsewhere.  
Despite her fears, she forced herself to continue around the room, stopping at his drawers. Out of curiosity, she opened one. The clothes didn’t seem to belong to someone she knew. Her mind was blank; wiped clean of any memories of him. _I know nothing about him. My brother. My stranger._ She didn’t even know what he did at work. How did she not know what he did at work? How had she never thought to ask?  
She closed one drawer and opened another. Taking out a bottle of vodka, she stared at it, frowning. She didn’t know he drank vodka.  
_Never try Eff. Just be.  
_ She took a swig. It tasted horrible. The second swig tasted no better than the first.

The cold touch on his forehead woke him and his eyes snapped open. “What the-“  
“Shh.” Effie took her hand away from his hairline, trailing it down and settling on his lips so that he could say no more. She stared at her hand. He exhaled through his mouth so that his warm breath kissed her fingertips, making her smile and giggle. Her blue eyes were open wide and they moved back up to look into his. Slowly, she took her hand away and settled it on her lap. She was knelt beside the sofa. How long had she been there watching him?  
“You alright Eff?” He asked, frowning. Her smile faltered slightly. “I’m fine. Perfect. This is me happy.” She sounded as though it were an attempt to convince him.  
“Okay…what you doing then?” Damon looked around. He must have fallen asleep after True Blood finished. She stared at him for a long while, as though she were trying to figure something out. “C’mon Eff, out with it.” He propped himself up on his elbows.  
She chewed her lip, blue eyes scanning his face.  
“You want me, don’t you Damon?” She asked, unsure.  
Damon grinned. Ramsay was always so fucking right.  
“Course I do Eff.” He muttered, reaching out and stroking her hair.  
“No. You _want_ me. Say it. I need to hear you say it.” Effie ordered urgently. Damon rolled his eyes and forced himself to sit upright, leaning over her. He grasped her face in his hands, trying to think of things that wouldn’t make him laugh. “I want you, Effie Snow.” He frowned as she laughed again and the scent of vodka filled his nostrils. He had no time to ask her any questions though. She gripped his hands tight so that they could not move away from her face until their lips met, then they moved into his hair; curling into fists and gripping tight as though she feared ever letting him go. Her kiss was hungry. Savage. Needy.  
They stood up, still kissing. “Fucking hell Eff.” Damon breathed as she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist; clinging to him and pressing against him with her whole body. She wasn’t particularly heavy so Damon made no complaint. Especially not seeing as it meant she was rubbing against his crotch. He groaned with need himself now.  
“Take me to bed Damon.” She begged in his ear. He never could say no to that pretty face. Damon chuckled and they resumed kissing as he walked, still being used as a climbing frame.  
They didn’t actually make it to the bedroom. On the second flight of stairs, Damon tripped and twisted so that he wouldn’t crush her. They both collapsed into a heap; their laughter thickened with lust. Damon started to get up, but Effie was already on him, straddling him and trying to get his pants down. “So much for the bed, eh?” She looked up at him then, her bright blue eyes shining. He frowned as they seemed to melt; the shine running streaming down her cheeks. Damon stroked her cheek and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, feeling the wetness of it. “Why are you crying Eff?” Her brows furrowed together and she pressed a hand to her face, staring down at it as the skin came away wet. It were as if she couldn’t believe she was crying.  
Effie stared at it for what seemed like an eternity before Damon grew bored and started to tug the bottom of her t-shirt up. She wore no bra underneath and Damon kissed her breasts gently. He remembered the last time he had kissed them. They were barely larger than a boys, but she had only been a girl at the time. She was a woman now.  
Effie sighed as he took a nipple in his mouth and worked at it with her teeth. Damon helped her take her underwear off, running his hand down her smooth thigh. That thigh had been scrawny as a bird’s the last time he touched it. He had found her fragility endearing, but he liked her body now too.  
They both cried out in relief as he slid inside of her, her cunt already slick without his assistance. Damon sucked at her neck as she rode him; relishing how wet and warm she was. He remembered this. She may have had more men then she could count since, but she had not changed. He breathed in deep, drinking in the scent of her and slid his hands over the small of her back, guiding her movements. Not that she needed any assistance with trying to get it right.  
Her hands entwined themselves in his blonde hair again and Damon could have sworn he felt a tear fall onto his shoulder. “I need you, Damon.” She panted. “I need you.” She wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This video has had me really inspired for this story at the moment. It's amazing! Go check it out:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mDM_TOidr08


	19. Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby I need a friend  
> but I'm a vampire smile, you'll meet a sticky end  
> I'm here trying not to bite your neck  
> but it's beautiful and I'm gonna get  
> so drunk on you and kill your friends.  
> You'll need me and we can be obsessed

It was a few days before Damon sobered up enough to remember he was supposed to help Locke around the grounds still.   
The house had become a rather large, rather posh, drug den. Chopping boards scattered the kitchen table with the remnants of coke that had not yet gone up their noses. Boxes of pills were also laying around; the majority of them empty and empty bottles were collecting on the kitchen side.  
Effie was non-stop. Whatever Damon had, she’d take it. Throughout the house, items of underwear had been left, serving as flags for the spots they’d shagged in.  
They may have stopped had Gilly not been ill. The morning after their first night together, the girl had arrived with her face an unhealthy shade of grey. “Perhaps you should take the rest of the week off Gilly.” Damon had suggested, grinning at Effie who smiled knowingly back, sliding her foot up his leg to rub his crotch. With some convincing, Gilly allowed him to drive her home. When he’d returned, Effie had been ready for him; wearing only her underwear with a half-empty bottle of wine in her hand.  
“Morning princess.” He muttered, trailing his fingertips up and down the dip of her spine. She hummed into the pillow; blue eyes opening sleepily. She rolled over onto her back and sat up; her hair unwashed and messy as a birds nest. Damon thought it was one of the sexiest things he’d ever seen.  
Effie grinned wolfishly and pushed him over so that he was lying on his back. “You’re dressed.” She complained between kisses.  
“Yeah. Eff-“ He was cut off by her hungry lips. “Eff.” He mumbled into her mouth, pushing her away slightly. She stopped and sat back on his hips with a wounded look on her face. “I’ve got to go and help Locke. He’ll be wondering where I am.” He said, sitting up  
“Let him wonder.” She tried to tackle him back onto the bed but Damon pushed her off again.  
“It’s best he doesn’t know about us. This is our secret.”  
“But it’s for real, right?” Effie asked, her eyes suddenly widening in desperation. Damon cupped her cheek gently and she keened into his touch. “Of course it’s for real.” He shoved her off of his hips. “I won’t be long.” He promised. Effie didn’t even look at him, just remained slumped on the bed, hugging her knees. “You going to be alright until I get back?” He asked, unnerved by her silence.  
“Not dead yet am I.” She muttered, not meeting his gaze. She bowed her head again, allowing the mess of hair to hide her face.  
“You on a come down or something?” He frowned, pulling on his jacket. Even from behind, he could see her wipe her cheek. “Still up.” Effie laughed a little. “Way up. I’m a fucking balloon.” She laughed harder and turned. Damon grinned back and watched her for a moment as she spied a bottle of whiskey (they must have raided Mr Bolton’s office. Damon couldn’t remember) and took a long drink, grimacing and whipping her mouth when she was done. Saying nothing more, he hurried from the room, knowing he’d have some explaining to do and trying his best to think of an excuse.

“Are those hers or is there something you’re not telling me?” Damon frowned and followed Locke’s gaze to see a red thong clinging to his trousers.  
“Fuck.” He hissed. “Suppose you’re going to tell on me now?” Damon asked, not meeting Locke’s gaze.  
“I should. But I won’t. Best he thinks everything went smoothly in his absence. Can’t say I blame you either. If I was in that house alone with that girl I’d fuck her ‘til she was screaming, whether she wanted to or not. Yeah, very tidy. Arse like two snooker balls in a sock. Tits aren’t bad either.” Locke leered.  
Anger swelled inside him and his hands curled into fists at his sides. What would have happened if he hadn’t been told to stay here? Would she have been left to be raped repeatedly by Locke?  
“Funny. I’ve served Mr Bolton for years and I haven’t had a go on her once.”  
“I’m not having a go on her. She’s a fucking person, not a motorbike.” Damon muttered through clenched teeth.  
“Aye, she’s a _fucking_ person alright.” Locke grinned and winked at him, making Damon’s stomach churn. He felt sick, but that might also have been down to the amount of alcohol he’d consumed these past three days.  
“Are there any jobs you want me to do?” He asked, eager to get Locke’s fantasies about Effie far from his mind.  
“You can clean up the driveway. You both left it in quite a state.” Locke replied. Damon vaguely recalled a water fight. It had been Effie’s idea, though they’d had to resort to using the condoms he had with him as they didn’t have any balloons to fill up with water.  
Turning, Damon went and grabbed a bucket to put the rubbish he found in and headed for the driveway, though he wasn’t all that keen on going so far from the house with Locke around.

He made sure to return to check where Locke was every now and again, though it was clear his fear of and loyalty to Mr Bolton over-rode his desire for Effie as Damon always found the man still hard at work around the grounds. Of Effie there was no sign, though Damon assumed she was simply catching up on sleep. She had been manic these past three days; drinking continuously, and when she wasn’t drinking she was taking drugs, and when she wasn’t taking drugs they’d fuck until they collapsed into a hot, sweaty mess.  
Due to the to-ing and fro-ing, cleaning up the driveway took longer than he’d anticipated and his absence these past few days had meant work had piled up around the grounds. By the time Locke declared them done for the day, it was almost dark.  
“Enjoy your evening.” Locke leered, raising his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. Damon smiled, his thoughts of what he and Effie would get up to tonight making him forget his earlier disgust for Locke. He made himself a quick sandwich before heading upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. Effie wasn’t in her bedroom, or in her den. Damon checked the bathroom, but she wasn’t in there either.  
“Eff?” He called. There was no reply. Frowning, Damon stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and continued up the stairs onto Ramsay’s floor. He was certain that Effie wouldn’t dare to go into Mr Bolton’s rooms and he hadn’t heard her downstairs.  
She was sat on the bed; one leg tucked beneath her, the other bent and collapsed onto it. Effie shifted about frantically. The bed was littered with pieces of paper, newspapers and magazines. Damon watched her as she cut a piece of paper, brow furrowed in concentration. Behind the bed, the wall had been turned into a canvas for her collage; slowly infecting the wall paper.   
“Eff, why are you in Ramsay’s room?” He asked, sitting down on the end of the bed. Effie didn’t seem to hear him and continued cutting madly.  
“Effie?” He raised his voice a little. She looked up then, her blue eyes vacant and confused, as if she couldn’t place him. Her gaze fell back down to the papers around her and she skimmed over them with her fingertips. Meeting his gaze once more, she began to laugh.  
“What’s so funny?” He asked, smiling, amused by her girlish giggle. Effie buried her hands into the papers; scooping them up and throwing them in the air. They drifted down around her like confetti. “Found Ramsay’s porn stash!” She laughed even harder. Damon chuckled and let her go back to her cutting, focusing on the collage behind her.  
The images were disturbing, even to him. Children screamed at him; their pain captured in a single image. Images of people being tortured and mutilated. Lynchings, burnings, beheadings, the faces of those being executed covered by letters, each spelling out the same thing. _Commodity._ Pictures of pills, the word ‘raped’ scribbled onto each tablet in a manic scrawl.  
“Effie what the fuck did you take?” Damon asked, finding it a little hard to breath. He could taste the panic at the back of his throat. This wasn’t normal. Even for someone on drugs. Damon couldn’t make sense of it. These past few days had been one laugh after another. If this was just another joke, it was too twisted for him to understand.  
Under the judging gazes of the terrified children and mutilated victims, Damon inched towards her. She didn’t seem to notice him; her full attention fixed on the paper as she cut it.  
“Effie, please, can you drop the dark shit? Please.” He hadn’t meant to make it sound like begging but it did somehow.  
“Need to make sense.” Effie muttered, abandoning the scissors and resorting to tearing instead.  
“Well you aren’t making any sense to me right now.” Effie carried on the frantic ripping as he inched closer, desperate to snap her out of it. “Effie this isn’t funny okay? Cut it out.” It was almost a growl. He didn’t like feeling so helpless.  
Maybe it was all just some trick. A joke at his expense. She had taken more stuff than he had, and drugs affected everyone differently, didn’t they? Or maybe none of this was happening and he was just tripping badly.  
“Nothing makes sense. In my head.” She spoke in short, sharp bursts, using her teeth to tear the paper now; her face creased up in confusion. “Remember. Why can’t I remember?” Her hands fluttered over the pictures, picking ones out and placing them in an order in front of her. Effie jerked back to sit on her haunches, facing her morbid creation. Damon could think of nothing to do other than watch.  
“Ramsay.” She placed a picture of her brother on the wall. It must have been taken at some get together. Ramsay sat in a garden chair beside Effie, but she had scribbled over her own face with a permanent marker.  
“Drugs.” Damon followed her frantic hands as it flinched over the images until she found another picture of pills.  
“Me.”  
When Damon was in year nine, they had been studying the Second World War in history and he had been asked to prepare a presentation on the subject of propaganda. He had found these postcards on the internet; the devil molesting women and young girls, biting their breasts and clawing at their naked flesh. Damon had made six girls cry with that presentation and the teacher had insisted he visit the school counsellor at least once a week after that. It had all been terribly amusing.  
But when Effie tacked one of those cards to the wall as a representation of herself in the equation, Damon didn’t laugh. He stared at the three images. Ramsay. The drugs. The young girl being raped by the devil.  
“The lines between. Blurred. None of it makes sense.” Effie panted.   
Damon felt sick. It all made perfect sense to him.  
“Effie, please. We’ll go back to your room. We can fuck or drink. I’ll spoon you if that’s what you fucking want. Let’s just-“ His sentence was cut short when he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and she whipped around, releasing a piercing bark. From behind the curtain of hair that had fallen across her face, Damon could just about make out her eyes. For a moment, he struggled to find her in them. They were owned by something else. Something feral and merciless, like the demon on the card.  
Then it was gone.  
Effie cracked a lazy smile and leaned forward onto her hands and knees. Damon didn’t seem to realise what was happening until he was on his back. Effie crawled over him, stripping him of his shirt and sliding his trousers down just enough to expose him. “Eff, no-“ The rest was lost as he felt the wet heat of her mouth around him.


	20. Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I see scares me  
> No one waits

Once she’d exhausted herself and had fallen asleep in his lap, Damon carried her and put her in her own bed; drawing up the covers over her naked form, feeling a strange need to save her modesty. They’d just fucked in Ramsay’s bed. He’d fucked his sister in his bed. Damon hoped he’d never find that out.  
Leaving her to her dreams, whatever they might have been, Damon went downstairs in search for food, coffee, and a fag. Once he was sat at the dinner table with all three, he pulled out his phone and toyed with the idea of phoning Ramsay. The things he had learnt…what Effie had been like…he needed to tell someone. It had all been too real; a nightmare come to life. Ramsay needed to know.  
But what could Damon say? That his sister was having a mental breakdown after they’d been on a binge for four days? He remembered what Ramsay had been like after he found Effie at Joff’s house. Though it was clear now that Ramsay wasn’t quite as in touch with Effie’s mind as he first thought. The more Damon thought about it, the more he wondered what Ramsay would think if he told him. Had it all just been a sick, twisted trick? Maybe it was revenge for what he had done to her. For never telling her that he’d paid to use her.   
Damon stared down at his phone, his indecision about to reach its climax when he noticed something. Was that really today’s date? He double checked the calendar hung up on the kitchen wall. Stubbing out his fag on a saucer, Damon collected a bin bag and began to search for any drugs they’d left hanging around. He snorted some coke to help him get the job done quicker.

“Eff. Eff, wake up.” He muttered, nudging her gently. Sunlight was creeping across the sky and the birds were singing cheerfully. Effie opened her eyes, groaning as she sat up. Her head lolled drunkenly.  
“How you feeling?” He asked. She frowned as he set a tray down on the bed beside her, laden with toast, juice, and a bowl of granola.  
“Hunky-fucking-dory.” She chuckled. The bottle of vodka seemed to appear from nowhere and Damon found himself unable to move as he watched her pour it into her cereal bowl.  
“Eff.” He gripped her wrist, drawing the bottle away from the bowl.  
“Hey!” She cried out as the vodka spilled onto the tray. Damon ignored her thunderous gaze. “Do you remember anything? From last night?” He bit his lip anxiously, watching her eyes as she searched about desperately for an answer.  
“We drank. We fucked. And I was sensational as always.” She shrugged, taking a swig of vodka whilst simultaneously attempting to unbutton his shirt.  
“That’s enough, Eff.” Damon snapped, shoving her off and snatching the bottle away. “What the fuck is up with you? You’re being…you haven’t been to college for days. You’re acting all twisted and depressed one minute then on top of the fucking world the next. It’s fucking me up Eff!” He hadn’t planned on yelling at her and instantly regretted it as she flinched away and cast her eyes downwards.  
“Is this some punishment or something? For what I did?” Effie remained silent and refused to meet his gaze. Damon gave her a long chance before standing up and fixing his shirt. “I’m going out today. I promised my brother I’d go see him.”  
“You’re leaving me?”  
“Stay in here. Stay away from Locke. I’ll be back before dark. Lay off the drink until I get back.” He ordered gruffly. He had already collected all the drugs he could find and stashed them in his car.  
“Better fuck off then.” Her voice was so bitter it stopped him in his tracks. She continued to glare at him; her blue eyes filled with anger and hurt.  
Damon sighed and turned away from her. A part of him wanted to stay with her, to make sure she was alright and to fuck the hurt away. But why should he? He hadn’t done anything wrong, not recently anyway, and she was the one telling him to fuck off. Besides, he’d made a promise to his brother.

“Damon!” He pressed a finger to his lips and gestured for James to come over, keeping an eye on the playground monitors. His little brother ran over, too excited to care for stealth.  
“Easy G!” Damon chuckled, hugging him and swinging him around in the shadows of the trees. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” He grinned down at his brother, ruffling the blond curls.   
“Yeah! Later tossers!” The kid yelled over his shoulder, giving the whole playground the finger. Damon hushed him through fits of laughter, helping his brother up and over the school fence.  
They drove down to the pier, rap blasting from the car’s speakers. Once there, Damon bought chips and they sat down on a bench, facing out towards the sea.  
“You hitched that bitch yet?” The eight year old asked through a mouthful of chips.  
“Oi!” He punched the skinny arm lightly, grinning. “Nah, we’re over.” He muttered, stealing a chip.  
“Did you love Myranda?” His brother asked casually after a moment’s silence.   
“Love’s for pussies Jamie.” He chuckled, rolling a fag.  
“Oh.” His brother frowned down at the newspaper bowl.  
“Why? You got a bird or something?”  
“No. But there’s a girl I like. She makes me feel funny and I can’t eat my lunch if she’s around. George says that’s what love feels like.”  
“Yeah? Well then George is a pussy.”  
“Oh.” His brother seemed to deflate and slumped back on the bench, abandoning his chips.  
“You done with those?” James nodded wordlessly and Damon flung the paper and its contents over his shoulder without looking, grinning as some old woman croaked a swear word at him. That returned the smile to his brother’s face and they fled before they could manage any more trouble.

The house was too big.   
Effie tried to be brave. She tried. But the rooms were so big, and some were so dark, and she knew the faces would be watching. She knew they were there. Behind that door. Around the next corner. They were there, waiting, and they were hungry. Really fucking hungry.  
Sometimes she could hear them. Whispering to one another. Plotting. Deciding on ways to hurt her.  
Eventually she found herself driven back to her own floor. Effie found her school bag and looked through her work. None of it made any sense to her, and she quickly lost interest trying to figure it all out. Her phone was on her desk. No one had texted her. Clutching it to her chest, she recalled what she had said to Damon earlier. How harsh she had been. _I didn’t mean it. I want you. I need you._  
She sent him a message. Then another. Then another. He didn’t reply. What had he said he was going to do again? She couldn’t remember. Everything was so messed up in her head. She needed someone, she didn’t want to be alone. The house was full of faces; she could sense them outside the bedroom door. Damon could send them away, but Damon wasn’t here. And Ramsay…Effie released an agonized whine.  
Glancing up at the door, she scrolled frantically through her contacts. Effie stared at each until one felt right. They hadn’t spoken in so long.  
The phone rang. And rang and rang. Effie held her breath, eyes darting nervously towards the door, sure that they’d break through any minute.  
A polite tone finally answered. “The number you have called is not available…” Effie lobbed the phone onto her bed, not sure if she was able to leave a message. When she tried to speak to herself nowadays, she struggled to make sense and her own voice frightened her. Standing up, she moved away from the door and went and sat on the unmade bed. Damon’s voice was in her head, crying out against her as she reached for the bottle of vodka. But it helped to dull the others.  
Effie almost dived under the covers when there was a sharp buzzing sound, and she had to give her heart a moment to slow down before she was able to answer the phone.  
“Hello?” Her voice was dry and shaky.  
“Hi Effie.” It took a few seconds for her to place Meera’s voice.  
“Meera? I…I called Jojen…”  
“I know but, you see, Jojen can’t answer it.” It almost sounded as though her voice were about to crack. Even in Effie’s confused mind, she could tell something was wrong. “Meera, what’s happened?”  
“Haven’t you been to college? They announced it recently…”  
“No, I haven’t been feeling well. What is it? What’s happened?” There was rising panic though and Effie felt as though she were going to be sick.  
“Oh Effie…there was a car. He was just out for a walk. He loves walks. And he was hit. From the damage they don’t think the car slowed down.” The girl went silent but Effie heard her sniffle after a while.  
“Damage…what damage?” Effie’s voice was ghostly.  
“They had to remove a leg. He has a prosthetic but he can’t walk without a cane. And…and he’s lost…he can’t remember me Eff. Or dad, not even our mother. He doesn’t even know our faces.” Meera broke down into sobs. “I’m sorry Effie, I need to go…” The line went dead before Effie could even speak.

“Where do you live now?” Damon kept his eyes on the road, looking for the turning.  
“With Ramsay. Remember him?”  
“Kind of. He used to pretend to be angry and then he would laugh. He’s a fucking nutter.” His brother laughed and Damon smacked his knee as he tried to put his feet on the dashboard for the umpteenth time.  
“He used to scare me a little.” Jamie admitted.  
“He scares me too kiddo.” Damon grinned. The turning came up on their left and an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.  
“Can’t I come live with you?” James asked.  
“Nah Ramsay’s shag pad is no place for an eight year old.”   
“Shag pad?” In his peripheral vision, he saw his brother’s eyes go wide as saucers. “Really?” The boy gasped.  
“Sure kiddo. Ask again when you reach puberty.” He laughed. Their laughter died as the house came into view, and their mother with it. How had she even known they were coming back now? Damon considered making him jump out here and backing away before they could speak.  
_Don’t be such a pussy_ he told himself.  
“James, where have you been?” She marched over to them as they got out of the car. “You were supposed to be in school.” Their mum growled. She glared at Damon as James moved over to her, head hung low. “I know.” He mumbled.  
“Get inside and up to your room right this minute, before I smash up your PlayStation.” She was almost screeching now. James looked up at her fearfully before turning away and heading back towards the house.  
“See you kiddo.” Damon called after him. His brother turned and smiled weakly. With nothing else to distract himself with, Damon turned back to face his mother.  
“I don’t want you dragging him down to wherever it is you’re going. Hell most likely. I thought you were in prison? Or am I going to have to ring the police and tell them they have a missing inmate?”  
“I’m not in prison mum, clearly. I’ve got work and a place to live.” He thanked whoever the fuck was up there that there was truth to those words.  
“And what about that whore you were supposed to marry?” She sneered.  
“I broke it off. I’m not here to discuss my life story with you. I just came to drop James back. Or would you rather I just left him in the park? He’s used to that right?” Without another word, Damon got back into his car.  
“Yes, that’s right. You drive back to your whores and your drink.” She called.  
“And you go back to yours!” He yelled, slamming the car door to drown her out. He tried lighting a fag, but the lighter was out of gas. “Fuck.” He hissed. His phone buzzed and he dug it out the side pocket of his car.  
Six new messages. All from Effie.

_I’m sorry_

_Please come back_

_I didn’t mean what I said_

_I want you_

_I NEED YOU_

_PLEASE DAMON, I’M SCARED_

“Shit.”   


	21. Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fix my head, Love  
> Time is slowing down, Love  
> Just to see you  
> Open up your eyes, Love  
> Eyes, Love

He’d returned to find her curled up inside the duvet cover. Not beneath it. _Inside it._ Cocooned within the sheets. She’d dragged him inside it too without a word and had forced his arms around her. Effie didn’t try anything. In fact, when he felt his cock stiffen a little from the closeness of her, she climbed out from between the sheets and couldn’t bring herself to meet his confused gaze. Damon said nothing. He wasn’t sure what he could say.

When they woke up the next morning, he forced her to sit up in bed. “Enough of this now Eff.” She didn’t argue as he stood her up, and walked with him willingly to the bathroom. Effie was like a child; obeying his commands, sullenly complying as she was stripped and bathed. Damon was gentle, fearing she might break at any moment. She felt so fragile.  
He dressed her in tights, a t-shirt dress, and doc Martin’s, then he led her downstairs and made them both a simple breakfast of jam and toast, though Effie didn’t eat until he commanded her to. She stared vacantly out of the window, nibbling at the toast and not moving until he guided her from the room.   
“Where are we going?” She asked as he led her towards his car.  
“Town. You girls like shopping, right?” Damon asked, grinning. He had been awake half the night figuring out ways to cheer her up. Myranda had always been happiest when she was spending his money, and Damon had more now than he’d had with his fiancé.  
Effie continued to look vacant, even a little unimpressed, but she got into the car without complaint. Whatever he put on the radio, she remained unmoved by it. Even when Damon belted out Ace of Spades. She just rested her head against the window and stared at the world as it passed them in a blur of green and grey.  
Damon put a hand on her knee, feeling an overwhelming need to touch her; to know that she was really there, and that she wouldn’t fade away or shatter into a million pieces. After a while, her cold hand slid over his and gripped it fiercely.

The town was quiet, but it was only ten in the morning, and it was a Friday. Damon had to pry her hand off of his. Effie didn’t seem to notice and he half expected her to fall out of the car when she didn’t move her head away from the window. He opened the door for her, ready to grab her if she fell, but she remained frozen; bordering on catatonic.  
He offered her his hand, holding it out in front of her face so she’d see it. Effie’s blue eyes met his and she managed a weak smile, taking his hand and stepping out of the car warily as though the ground were sinking sand. She kept hold of his hand; Damon’s grip tightening comfortingly every time she flinched away from something. People stared at them, though whether it was because they recognised her as the socialite that used to fill magazines, or as a crazy person ready to snap at any minute, Damon couldn’t say. After a while, he grew tired of their stares and began to glare back. That sent them hurrying away; heads down and eyes firmly averted.  
Effie didn’t notice them staring. She wandered around the shops, though it was more like she was mocking the whole trip than actually looking at things. She modelled the most ridiculous hats and tottered around in the highest shoes. Shopping with Effie was a far cry from shopping with Myranda, and far more entertaining. Even better, they didn’t buy anything!  
Effie kept hold of his hand most of the time and they went from shop to shop like a proper couple. Damon tried not to let that freak him out, focusing instead on the smile on Effie’s face and the laughter that rang in his ears.  
After they got thrown out of H&M for misbehaving, Effie led the way down to the park. Once they reached a grassy bank, Effie yanked him down beside her; their fingers still entwined. The park was empty apart from one girl walking her dog who stopped at a park bench to text somebody.  
“The house…it’s so crowded.” Effie breathed, tilting her head up towards the sun.  
“What?” Damon leaned back on his elbows, taking in the empty park.  
“The house. It’s so noisy. I can hardly breathe.” Effie also shifted her weight back onto her elbows. Dark shadows still lingered beneath her eyes and he hadn’t thought to brush her hair so it had dried in a frizzy tangle. Out here, in the bright autumn sunlight, Damon could see what the sickness had done to her. Her skin was deathly pale, and her flesh clung to her bones.  
Damon glanced away, feeling uneasy just by the sight of her.  
The dog walker was in the same spot, though now her phone was held up; aiming towards them as though she were taking pictures. “Oi!” He yelled at her. “Fuck off you perv!” Effie laughed as the girl ran away, dragging her dog with her. After she was gone, they both collapsed onto their backs, side by side, staring up at the blue expanse of sky.  
“They’re quieter when I’m with you.” She said matter-of-factly, tilting her head.  
“Who are?” Damon turned his head to look at her and frowned, puzzled.  
“The faces. They know you make me happy. They know I love you…it scares them.” Effie reached over and placed a pale hand on his chest. “If you weren’t there…if you never came back…they’d get me…”  
“Eff, did you take something in the car?”  
“Hole in the head?”  
“What?”  
“Like cavemen…hole in the head. Put a hole in their heads.” She started to giggle.  
“Effie, seriously, what the fuck are you on?”  
“It doesn’t work.” The smile dropped. “It’s supposed to let them out.” She was panting now; a film of sweat had formed across her brow.  
“Who’s them?” Damon sat up, leaning over her. Her gaze was pleading, begging for help. She was so afraid.  
“The faces.” She sobbed. “When I was younger, I used to hide. Ramsay and mum…they fought. He’d just walk out sometimes, and leave me. She’d come for me then. The doctor…there was a hole…hole in the head…but he stitched it up. Hole in the head. It doesn’t work. They’re still in there! And now they’re hungry.” Effie began to writhe and whimper beneath him. Damon pinned her down by her wrists.  
“Really fucking hungry!” She wailed at him.  
“Eff, stop it! That’s enough, okay? There are no faces, hear me? No one is going to eat you…or…whatever. So just stop it. This is all a bit Stephen King for me. Fine, I call chicken!” He yelled down at her, gripping her tear-streaked face in his hands. Effie stared up at him; eyes searching, brow furrowed in confusion and fear.  
Then she started to laugh. It was a childish, breathy laugh that sounded as if she had hiccups. Damon watched as she continued to writhe beneath him, her laughter contorting her and twisting her spine.  
“Chicken.” She smiled up at him between breaths.  
“Yeah. Chicken.” He replied hesitantly, his grin half-hearted. Effie pushed him off of her and rolled onto her front, resting her head on his chest. Damon watched her head rise and fall with every breath he took.  
“I can hear your heartbeat.” Effie whispered, as though it were the most precious sound in the world. Damon smiled fondly, placing a hand in her hair and stroking gently. It took him a moment to realise she was muttering a chant to herself under her breath, timing it with the rise and fall of his chest.  
_I love you. I love you. I love you.  
_ Damon rested his head on the ground; staring up at the sky and wondering what those three words meant, and why they scared him so much.

They lay there for a long while in total silence. Effie’s steady breathing suggested she had dozed off. Damon was close to slipping into sleep too until he felt as though someone were watching them. Sitting up as best he could with Effie still asleep on his chest, Damon saw no one. His stomach groaned noisily and Effie stirred, wiping the fatigue from her eyes and looking around in dazed confusion.  
“Hungry?” he asked. She just nodded mutely, allowing him to lift her up onto her feet. He held her steady for a moment, brushing her hair back from her face so he could see her eyes and determine what state she was in. Effie didn’t even meet his gaze.  
“Come on.” Damon’s tone was gentle, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.  
Her behaviour was truly beginning to frighten him now. He had no idea what to do. All this talk of faces and voices had him freaked out. What’s more, she’d said she loved him. It wasn’t like the school girl crush she’d had on him before. This was something deeper; rooted inside her. It would tear her open if he was ripped out. When she said she needed him, she truly meant it. He realised that Effie was scared too. Terrified even. She didn’t know what was happening to her either.  
Sat in Starbucks, Damon vowed to call Ramsay as soon as he could. He needed to know, and maybe he’d take it more seriously if he heard how freaked out Damon was by it.  
“He’s staring.” Damon glanced up at Effie, who was in turn staring at something over his shoulder. Damon turned and caught the eye of a plain-looking man whom he wouldn’t have looked twice at had he not been staring.  
“Can we help you with something?” Damon asked, arching an eyebrow.  
Much to Damon’s surprise, the man seemed to swallow any fear he had and began to walk towards them. “What do you want?” Damon turned in his chair to face him.  
“Effie Snow, right?” Effie looked up at him darkly, but the man was determined.  
“What’s it to you?” Damon stood up. The man was a whole head shorter than him and quite a bit older too. Yet he was too interested in Effie to realise the threat.  
“Relax kid. Effie and I have met before. I interviewed you and Joffrey Baratheon for The Sun, remember? Perhaps I could ask you a few questions, as we just happened to bump into one another.”  
“Bullshit.” Effie spat. “How did you know I was here?”  
“Alright, so I had a tip off that you were in town. But it was chance that brought you to this coffee shop.” The man’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. He eyed Effie hungrily.  
“Back off prick. She’s not a fucking commodity.” Damon growled, taking a step towards him.  
“Is this your new boyfriend? Odd. It wasn’t all that long ago you were all loved up with Joffrey. Some mystery surrounding that break up, Miss Snow. Best you clear it up with me now before people make their own assumptions from the photographs.” Effie shrank away from the reporter, bowing her head, though Damon could see her eyes still; wide and fearful. He stepped between her and the stranger.  
“I’m pretty sure you can’t interrogate her without permission or a warrant or something.”  
“Permission? From Mr Bolton, I presume? Why would I need to ask for his permission? Like you said, she’s not a commodity.”  
Damon didn’t think twice about slamming his fist into the smug smile. It had been a long time since the red mist had last descended, but now there was no stopping him. He hardly saw the blood even when it had covered his fists.  
When Effie started screaming, his fist paused in mid-air.  
“Eff! Effie, it’s okay.” He turned around to face her and reached out with bloody hands. Her eyes grew even wider. She was like a deer caught in the headlights. Trembling, her fight or flight instinct kicked in and she bolted for the door. No one tried to stop them as they fled the scene. No one dared.

Despite her somewhat weak appearance, Effie ran fast and far. Damon lost sight of her many times, but gradually realised she’d had the sense to return to the car. He reached her, heaving and panting, sweaty from the run.  
Effie was shivering and remained oblivious as he wrapped his Harrington around her. She clutched it tightly, still staring at nothing. “I didn’t know where else to go.” She sobbed. “Please…take me home.”

He cradled her in his arms like she were a small child, carrying her up to her room and sitting her down on the bed. She had ceased sobbing and whimpering in the car. Now she just trembled and stared into oblivion. “Eff. Eff look at me.” He commanded softly. Effie reluctantly obeyed. “I’m just going to go downstairs, just for a minute. Just to make us both some tea. Then I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.” He muttered, clasping her hands between his. They were so _cold_.  
Effie nodded, though she grabbed his hand fearfully as he moved away. “I promise.” He said again, squeezing her hand. Only then did she release him.

And the faces were there again. Plotting, mocking, laughing, taunting. Making her press her hands against her ears.   
“He’s coming back. He promised. He promised.”  
_He’s not coming back_ Ramsay sneered.  
“He is. He is.” She chanted.  
_Why would he come back to you, you’re dangerous_ her mother growled.  
“No. I’m not. I’m not. He’ll come back. He will.”  
Gregor just roared.   
Effie wrapped his jacket around herself tightly, drinking in his scent. She almost tore it off when she felt a buzzing over her breast, but it was only his phone receiving a text message.  
Effie pulled the phone out.  
Effie read the text message.  
Effie ran to the bathroom and locked the door behind her.

He’d forgotten that he left his phone in his jacket. Desperately trying to thinking of an excuse that would make sense for him needing it, Damon retraced his steps back up the stairs. He could call Ramsay while he made tea, then Effie wouldn’t need to know she’d called him. He could just tell her he needed to ring his brother or something, or that he was ordering them food for dinner. Perhaps she wouldn’t even notice if he took the phone out of the pocket. She seemed oblivious to most things.  
But she wasn’t in the bedroom, or her den. Damon took one look at the closed bathroom door and breathed a sigh of relief. He had half feared he’d find her upstairs again, working on the collage she’d been making the other day. Damon hadn’t set foot in the room since; the disturbing images still carved into his mind, eating away at him just like everything else Effie did.  
He went back into the bedroom in the hope she’d taken his jacket off. There was no sign of his Harrington anywhere, but the phone was on the bed. Frowning, Damon walked over and picked it up.  
“Shit.” He breathed.

_Once you’re done with your fuckathon, perhaps you could do me a favour. You owe me, remember?_

“Effie.” Damon called, gripping the phone tightly. “Effie!” There was still no reply. Damon bolted from the room, stumbling as he tried to turn, scrambling the rest of the way to the bathroom. “Effie, let me in! Eff? Let me explain. EFFIE!” He was slamming on the door, but still there was no response. Something wasn’t right, he could sense it.  
Stepping back, Damon threw his whole weight against the door. And again. And again. Finally he burst through, taking a chunk out of the doorframe where the bolt had been.  
“Oh god.” Damon ran his hands through his hair and fell to his knees beside her. “Effie! Oh god, Effie. No, no, NO.”   
Hot blood still pulsed from her wrist.  
“DON’T YOU DARE DIE ON ME!” He screamed at her, tears stinging his eyes as he shook her and begged for someone to help.


	22. Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She said: "You ain't no son of mine  
> For what you've done they're gonna find  
> A place for you  
> And just you mind your manners when you go.  
> And when you go, don't return to me, my love."

He wouldn’t have accepted her offer of coffee were he not desperately fighting off sleep and too tired to get his own. They had driven for half a day and most of the night after seemingly endless collisions had clogged the motorways. Ramsay hadn’t dared to order his father to drive faster. To keep himself quiet, he’d chewed his thumb relentlessly until it was sore and bleeding. Occasionally there would be a strange stinging sensation behind his eyes and Ramsay would find himself desperately blinking away tears and he’d had to stare out of the window until he was sure they were gone so his father wouldn’t see them. There had been little else to do on the car journey but watch the world go by. Ramsay couldn’t bring himself to close his eyes and attempt to sleep. In the darkness of his mind, he could see what she must have looked like; slumped against the bathroom wall, her eyes lifeless, blood gushing from her open wrists, her flesh as white as snow.

The coffee was bitter to taste, but he was too weary to grimace.  
“The nurses said she’ll be fine after some rest.”  
“I heard.” He snapped, glancing up at the half-empty blood bag that was connected to his sister. Someone else’s blood was inside her now. His sleep deprived brain found that oddly intriguing. Would she be a different person when she woke? Would the lack of the blood they shared have changed her at all?  
“Oh baby girl.” She reached out a hand, leaning forward towards Effie’s limp, bandaged arm. Ramsay grabbed her wrist tightly, stopping it in its tracks. “Don’t fucking touch her.” He snarled. She glared back at him in reply. “I don’t even know why you’re here.” He muttered wearily, throwing away her wrist and taking Effie’s hand for himself.  
“She’s my daughter.”  
“And that matters to you now because?”  
“She didn’t become a manic depressive under my care.” His mother hissed.  
“No, she was just…let me think…an ash tray, a punching bag…”  
“That’s enough from you.” His mother snapped.  
“No actually, I don’t think it is. Why don’t we list all the other things you put your children through? What’s wrong, mother dearest? Worried I might say something disturbing? Or are you just scared because you don’t get drugs in prison?” Ramsay’s raised voice must have broken through. Effie’s eyelids slowly parted, revealing dull blue beneath them.  
Mother and son ceased their bickering and stared at her, waiting for her to say something. Effie looked at Ramsay. At first her gaze was fearful until his hand tightened on hers. Then it became accusing. Ramsay swallowed anxiously and looked away, focusing instead on their interlinked hands. Her gaze moved on to their mother, and the blue was filled with cold hatred.  
“Hi sweetheart.” Their mother broke the silence with a gentle tone. Effie continued to glare at her. “I don’t think she can place you.” Ramsay muttered with a satisfied smirk.  
“Of course she can.” His mother barked. Effie shifted uncomfortably as their mother settled a withered hand on her blanketed knee. “You remember me, don’t you Eff?”  
“Don’t call her that. She doesn’t like strangers using her pet name, isn’t that right Eff?”  
“I’m your mum, remember?” Her voice grew desperate. The blue eyes lingered on her for a moment longer before Effie turned her head away from them both, shifting her knee until it was out of her mother’s grip.  
Their mum slumped back in her chair, defeated. Her expression no longer gentle. “I’m going for a fag.” She announced bitterly. Ramsay no longer had the energy to make a cruel remark. Instead he watched Effie who continued to stare blankly at the far wall. Again, his grip tightened on her hand in the vain hope she’d remember he was there. He wanted her to look at him, but not with the same accusing look she had given earlier.  
“Eff? She’s gone. It’s just you and me now. Like old times, yeah?” Except it wasn’t, because Effie was attached to tubes and blood bags, after just having escaped her own attempt to meet death. Her lips were dry but remained sealed and she continued to look away from him. Ramsay considered sitting on the edge of the bed, but he didn’t want to hurt her or accidentally pull out a tube so he stayed put.  
Effie held up one of her bandaged arms and examined the stark red blooms that dotted their bed of white, like poppies in snow.  
“Eff. Look at me.” He’d sounded a little harsher than he intended, but Effie obeyed. Her eyes were no longer accusing. It was worse. There was nothing in them at all, and Ramsay was reminded of the images he’d feared to see in the car if he’d closed his eyes.  
“What the fuck happened Eff?” He sighed. She didn’t flinch as he brushed her cheek gently. “Was it something Damon did?” The dead-eyed stare remained and her mouth quivered, as though she were angry but refused to say so. Ramsay sat for a long moment, looking back at her, meeting her gaze for as long as he could. “Say something, Eff.” His voice was barely more than a chapped whisper. Effie looked away and frowned. “Please?” It could have almost been classed as begging. Once again, Effie turned her head away from him to stare at the wall opposite. After a moment, she disentangled her hand from his.  
“Fine.” Ramsay snapped. “I’m going home. I’m sure mum will stay here with you. Won’t that be just grand? You two can have a good old catch up. If you don’t talk she might just beat the words out of you.” Standing, Ramsay marched from the room, leaving his sister to her silence.

It was raining outside and night had fallen. They must have waited all day for her to wake up, and now she had and things were perhaps worse than when he’d thought he would arrive to find her dead. At least then he wouldn’t have to face her accusing stares.  
Ramsay called Locke from inside the reception, and watched his mother through the window. She was still smoking; watching the rain fall from within a shelter. Once Locke was on his way, he went out and joined her, but only so he could have one of her cigarettes. She seemed to know it too, and handed him one wordlessly, lighting it for him.  
“Carrying her inside of me was like carrying a grenade. She just felt…dangerous. Like she could explode at any minute, taking the people closest with her.” She murmured, her forehead resting against the glass. She looked a lot older than when he had last seen her six years ago, though no doubt the absence of her children had made it all the more easy to drink and take drugs. Not that their being there had ever stopped her.  
“You told me all that already.” Ramsay muttered, closing his eyes.  
“Did I?”  
“The night we left. You probably got too drunk to remember.” He took a pull of his cigarette. “Don’t you remember anything? Anything at all? Not even what you…what you did?”  
“I remember nothing. Just that I woke up with the worst hangover and no children.” She chuckled darkly. Ramsay felt sick. He remembered. Both Effie and his mother had forgotten, but the memory was so vivid; always there, eating away at the back of his mind.  
“So what did I do? What did I do that could have been any worse than what your monster of a mother had done already?” Ramsay clenched his fist at her tone.  
“I’d rather you didn’t know.”  
“What? You trying to protect me from my own horrors by not telling me?” She asked dryly.  
“No. I’m not telling you because I hope the fear of it keeps you awake at night. I hope that repressed memory is the thing that makes you drink. I hope you puke up your liver from it.” Ramsay spat. His mother just stared at him, flinching as he flicked his fag at her.  
“Locke’s here.” He said the moment he spotted Locke’s car. “I’m going to collect some of her stuff. I’ll be back tomorrow.” He told her. With Effie kept under close watch by nurses, he was certain she was safe here without him. She didn’t seem to want him here anyway.  
“I should come with you.” Ramsay raised a surprised eyebrow.  
“You?” He scoffed. “You don’t even know what stuff belongs to her. You wouldn’t even know what room was hers. You don’t know her at all, and for her sake I hope you never will.” Ramsay grinned as her hands trembled and her face paled before ducking out into the rain.

The house was dark and dead when Locke pulled up. They had spoken a little during the journey from the hospital, mainly about what had occurred while Ramsay and Roose had been away.  
“Well Damon was understandably distracted from his work. But from what I could tell there weren’t nothing strange. They were kids being kids. Weren’t nothing odd about it.” Was all Locke had to say.  
Ramsay was in two minds about his friend. They had spoken on the phone. Damon sounded broken. Pitiful. Not like himself at all. It wasn’t as if Ramsay could blame him fully either. Effie had been showing…signs.  
“Your dad’s not home. Been with the Lannister’s all day.” Ramsay had just nodded, grimacing. Effie’s attempted suicide had dragged them home early, and they hadn’t been able to finish what they’d started. They’d been so close too. No doubt his father had gone to explain himself. They couldn’t have stayed in the north. What would the press say if the Bolton’s were not pulled together by such a tragedy?  
Once he was outside the car, Locke left for his own home, wherever that may be. Ramsay stared up at the house. It had never been a particularly welcoming home, but with all the lights off it seemed cold and hostile. As though it wanted no one to disturb it. He wondered where Damon might be. Had he fled already, afraid of what Ramsay or Roose might do to him? If he was honest, Ramsay had expected nothing less than what Damon had done. No one could have guessed what was going on in Effie’s head, could they? The girl had said nothing. She had been acting strange sure, but Ramsay had just put that down to her acting out after she was forced into a relationship with Joffrey.  
Damon’s car was still in the garage, and Ramsay was about to go inside and look for him when he heard a noise coming from the back of the house.  
His friend was stood beside a metal bin; its contents already on fire. Damon didn’t look up as Ramsay approached, his gaze fixed instead on the pieces of paper in his hands. “I came in from working with Locke one day.” Damon’s voice was thick and his hands shook. “She was in your room, cutting stuff up and sticking it on your wall. She wasn’t making any sense. It was so fucking… _dark_.” They stood side by side, watching the paper already inside the bin as it burned. Ramsay could barely make out the images, and they were even more sickening as the fire contorted them and ate away at the edges. Damon held a piece of paper out for him to take, the image facing the ground so Ramsay was looking at the back of it. _I love you_ had been written in a childish scrawl.  
“It’s written on every one.” Damon muttered, his voice flat. He dumped the rest of the paper into the flames and stood back for a moment. Ramsay could think of nothing to say as his friend seemed to explode with rage, kicking the burning bin onto its side. “Every _fucking_ one!” Damon roared, continuing to kick at the bin. Ramsay put a hand on his arm and yanked him back. The scattered flames made the tears on Damon’s cheeks glimmer.  
“We fucked her up real good this time didn’t we?” Damon muttered bitterly. Ramsay threw the piece of paper he was holding into the fire and remained silent for a little while longer. He hadn’t wanted to admit it. Whatever had been going on was all inside Effie’s head, that’s what he had told himself. You could never know with the mind. But the way she had looked at him in the hospital; accusing him with nothing more than a look.  
“Yeah.” Ramsay admitted. “We did.”


	23. Wine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little things  
> Lie in wait to catch you out  
> Leave you with the taste of doubt  
> Hidden in your mouth

Ramsay had been in his father’s study several times. He doubted Effie had been in there at all by the look on her face. She looked around with an awe-filled gaze before her eyes deadened once more and settled on the man in the chair behind the desk. They both waited until he gave them permission to sit down on the leather office sofa before doing so.  
Effie crossed her legs, sitting as far as she could from her brother, yanking the sleeves of her jumper down to cover her bandaged wrists. She kept her eyes on Roose, and Ramsay prayed she would not deal him one of her accusatory glares. It had taken enough begging for him to convince his father she was not a lost cause as it was. If Effie slipped up in the slightest, she would leave when their mother did.  
She had been in the hospital for four days, and was discharged this morning. They had both been sent straight to Roose’s office whilst Locke showed their mother to the guest rooms. Ramsay had argued with Roose that having her here was not a good idea, but he had insisted it was only for the night. Arrangements had been made for both Effie and her mother, and Ramsay sensed he was about to find out what they were.  
“She still isn’t speaking?” Roose asked him, inclining his head towards Effie. Ramsay shrugged, shaking his head. “Fine.” Roose turned back to Effie, who met his gaze brazenly, apparently unperturbed by the cold eyes. “You are to be placed in a special school. An institution of sorts. A friend of mine runs the place and owes me a favour. You shall remain there until you are better and this incident has all blown over with the press. It shouldn’t take long considering a reporter was the last one to speak with you before you cut yourself.” Ramsay watched Effie’s face the entire time for any hint of fear or discomfort. She showed none.  
“Wait…an institution?” He asked, only just processing it.  
“Yes. It is well run and has helped a great many girls overcome issues. Effie will stay there for a time.”  
“Stay there? You mean board?” Ramsay felt uncomfortable with the thought of being away from his sister. She may not be speaking to him now, but she needed him. She would always need him.  
“Yes. Board. It’s for her own good. Then, when she’s better, she’ll return to college. And to work.”  
“Work? You mean the same thing as before?” His father was not looking at him, too busy studying her reaction.  
“Not quite. Effie and I have discussed some time ago what happens to bad investments.” Ramsay gritted his teeth and looked from his father to Effie, searching for some explanation. There was none other than the fact Effie looked away from Roose, her face turning pale.  
“What does that mean?” Ramsay growled. Roose’s thin lips stretched into a smile at his son’s discomfort. “That is a conversation for another time. We will set off tomorrow for the institution, and take your mother home on the way. If we try to make her leave now she may cause a scene. I think we’ve had enough of those in this house, don’t you?” Roose turned his gaze back to Effie. Ramsay gritted his teeth when he noticed her hands were trembling. “You have some packing to do, I believe.” Roose sat back in his chair, signalling that the meeting was over. Ramsay wanted to know what he’d meant by the whole ‘bad investments’ thing, but he knew what would happen if he pushed his luck. He did owe him after all.  
Instead, he followed Effie from the room and up to her own floor. When he’d been collecting her stuff the other night, he had found her rooms in a total state. Ramsay wasn’t one to clean up after himself, but he had made an effort to tidy her rooms a bit. When Effie went into her bedroom, she stopped in the doorway and looked around. Ramsay moved to stand beside her. “I tidied up a bit.” He said. Effie moved forwards, away from him. Ramsay followed, watching her closely as she stared at the bed, frowning, as though she were remembering something.  
“I found this under your bed.” Ramsay picked up the box he had left on top of her chest of drawers. It was only small, with a picture of a white horse galloping across a beach on the top. Ramsay had found that weird since she hated horses. He had looked inside to find a small, worn out teddy bear and a pouch with pearl earrings in. He vaguely remembered giving them to her many years ago, in their past life.  
“Haven’t seen it before. You had it a while?” He asked. Effie parted her lips but said nothing, eyes transfixed on the box. She moved forward and took it from him, staring down at it as she moved away. Ramsay sighed, unsure what else to say.  
“At least we get rid of mum tomorrow.” Effie sat down on the bed, placing the box on her lap. “Looks like we’ll be heading back to the estate. That’ll be weird.” They hadn’t been back since they left, not that Ramsay was thinking about stopping to say hello. Effie looked up at him expectantly, as if she knew there was something that he wanted to ask her. With it clear to him that she was going to be unresponsive to his small talk, Ramsay sat down next to her and came out with it. “What did dad mean? You know, about bad investments?” She looked at him then, meeting his gaze, speaking with her eyes.  
_How can you ask me that? Can’t you figure it out for yourself?_  
“Just tell me!” He yelled. Effie rolled her eyes.  
_Un-fucking-believable._   
“If you told me what it was, then maybe I could stop it.”  
_Yeah right.  
_ Ramsay sighed, exasperated. “Fuck you then.” He muttered, standing up. Effie remained on the bed, clutching her box. Once at the doorway, Ramsay paused and turned around. “Damon wants to call you. Maybe you could say sorry for bleeding all over his Harrington jacket.” Ramsay chuckled darkly.  
_Fuck you._  
“See you at dinner.” Ramsay closed the door, shutting her inside.

She hadn’t planned on drinking. Well, she never _planned_ , but tonight she really had intended on staying clean. She wouldn’t allow Roose the pleasure of seeing her drunk. Again. Because that’s how it had happened the first time they met. On a night out, drunk and abandoned by her friends, sat on a road sign, drooping forward; her head heavy from the drink. He’d come along with his posh mates. They’d laughed. She’d thrown herself at him just to shut them all up.  
Nine months later, Ramsay had come along.  
But she couldn’t stop herself tonight. It was those _eyes_. Not Roose’s. Effie’s. That accusatory, judgemental glare. As if she was to blame for every bad thing that ever happened to her. She was sure she’d probably done some bad things, but she wasn’t to blame for everything. Effie couldn’t hate the fact she’d given birth to her any more than she did.  
Lifting the bottle of fine wine, she poured herself another glass, her hand shaking violently. In the reflection of the wine glass, she saw someone standing behind her. “Shhit.” She slurred, spinning around and making her stomach lurch. Effie just stared, taking in her and the bottle of wine in her hand. “What do _you_ want?” She hissed. Effie smiled that Effie smile she always used to do, as though she had some big fucking secret. Shaking her head, the girl padded into the kitchen in a shirt and slippers. She watched her for a moment, placing the wine bottle back on the table. “Come to find another knife?” She chuckled to herself as her daughter opened a cupboard and took out a glass. Effie carried on filling a glass of what, unperturbed by her remark. “Come and sit with your mama.” She ordered, kicking a chair out for her to sit on. Effie turned and stared some more, then looked at the chair. After a moment, her daughter obeyed. She always did eventually.  
They sat together, Effie sipping her water, her mother wine. The silence was like a heavy weight pressing down on her. By Effie’s unyielding stare, it was clear she didn’t feel the same pressure.  
“Stop looking at me like that.” She snapped after a moment. Effie didn’t listen. “Think you’re better than me do you?” She scoffed. “Sitting there all…judgemental. As if you have never done a damned thing wrong. We both know that’s a lie, don’t we?”  
Effie rolled her eyes and went to stand up.  
“You don’t think I don’t know? Roose Bolton gives nothing for free. The fucker owns you. That’s just how he works.” Her daughter stopped and sat back down, continuing that hate-filled stare. “So what do you have to do? Suck his cock?” Effie glanced away. “Worse is it?” She paused for a moment, scanning her brain for other options. “Ah, of course. You’re his favour, aren’t you? Method of payment? Effie fucking Snow.” She laughed heartily, taking a deep gulp of wine. “You’re no better than me. At least I can admit what I am. A washed up, drug addicted, alcoholic slut. But you’ve got to deny all that haven’t you? You’ve got to make yourself think you’re something special?”  
Effie’s gaze was dead, neither angry nor sad. It spurred her on.  
“That’s why you cut yourself wasn’t it? You just wanted people to care. You want people to want you. Well let me tell you something, daughter dearest,” She leaned in for effect. “No one wants a whore. Sure, they want us for a time, but they don’t _want_ us.” Effie blinked. “No one’s ever wanted you. I certainly didn’t. He came from nowhere, your father. Could have been the devil himself for all I know. He just…appeared. Came from the shadows of some alleyway. Can’t say it was the first time I was forced against my will, but he was certainly the worst. I did see his eyes though. Blue as yours. Aren’t you lucky to have eyes just like your daddy’s?” Effie’s lip trembled a little. “One day, you’ll end up just like me. And believe it or not, I don’t want that for you.” She downed the rest of the wine and looked away, unable to meet her gaze as the drink spoke her next words. “If it had been me that found you with your wrists cut open, I would have left you there. You’re dangerous. It’s the best thing for you.”  
Effie downed her water, a mocking gesture, then stood up and headed back over to the sink. She poured herself another glass of wine, and almost spilled it when Effie let go of her glass and it shattered around her feet. Her heart hammered in her chest from the initial shock of it, then from the sounds of doors and footsteps coming from upstairs. “Oh shit…” She breathed. Effie smiled her Effie smile, leant back against the sink, and waited.

Wearing just his boxers and carrying a baseball bat, Ramsay felt foolish coming across his dad on the stairs as they both headed downstairs to find out what the smashing sound had been. It was most likely his mother, or Effie, but Ramsay wasn’t about to walk into a fight without something to bloody the enemy with. He probably could have at least put a shirt on, but still.  
He was somewhat disappointed when, on entering the kitchen, he found no one but his pale faced, trembling mother, and his smirking sister. Shards of glass were scattered around her feet. Ramsay took one look at the almost empty wine bottle on the table and knew why.  
“One night.” He growled. “You couldn’t have stayed sober just for one fucking night?”  
“Can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” His mother slurred, grinning. “Besides, I can’t stand the way she just _stares_. Stares at me like I’m dirt on her shoe.”  
“I’d say more like dog shit than dirt. We’re always trying to scrape you off. The smell just seems to cling though.” Ramsay spat.  
“Enough.” Roose cut in, before they could take the argument any further. “Ramsay, take your sister upstairs.” He ordered. Ramsay grinned at his mother, knowing that being left alone with Roose was the last thing she wanted. Ramsay moved past his mother, who apparently wasn’t sober enough yet to stand, and stopped just short of the shards of glass. “Come on Eff.” He murmured, holding up an arm. For a moment, she looked as though she might go right past him, but she instead moved towards him, allowing him to wrap his arm around her shoulders. Ramsay gave his mother a dark smirk as he led his sister from the room.


	24. School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight  
> Drunk and driven by a devils hunger  
> Drive your son like a railroad spike  
> Into the water, let it pull him under

The car cruised along the road, its passengers all as silent as the grave. Ramsay sat on the back seat next to Effie. Occasionally he’d glance over, just to see how she was doing. The thought of her moving away now worried him. They should stay together. If Effie shared the same concern, she was doing well not to show it. She hardly seemed to move; her forehead resting against the glass, headphones in and the music turned up so loud the whole car could hear it. No one reprimanded her for it though. His mother stared straight ahead, one leg trembling ceaselessly, one hand clutching her bag, the other on the door handle as though she were ready to open it as soon as possible.  
Roose required no directions, and eased the car onto the estate. Ramsay stared out of the window, smirking as he recalled old memories. The fight he’d won just outside that kebab shop. The quickie he and Myranda had had just down that alleyway there. That pub he’d been barred from. Good times. Simpler times.  
His mother hadn’t lived in quite the same area they had, but it was the same block of flats he and Effie had grown up in. As the building came into sight, Ramsay suppressed a shudder and glanced over at Effie, who remained with her head against the glass, though now she stared sullenly up at the block of flats. The memories surrounding this place weren’t quite as happy.  
Before the car had even glided fully to a stop, their mother had opened the door and gone around to the boot to get her bag. Effie barely had enough time to get her forehead off the window before their mother opened the door to the backseat. “Does anyone want coffee?” It was said in a way that told them she didn’t want them to want coffee. Effie just looked away.  
“No. We don’t.” Ramsay answered, glancing up again at the block of flats. His mother nodded once before shutting the door on them, without so much as a goodbye. “Some things never change huh?” Ramsay muttered, putting a hand over Effie’s. She quickly moved away, sliding her hand out from beneath his. Not wanting to start an argument with dad around, Ramsay just returned to recalling memories of his hometown.

For a split second, Ramsay felt as though they had been thrown back four years. He had seen pictures of the school, wanting to know where it was exactly his sister was going. Effie’s eyes widened in awe when they pulled up outside, just like they had when she first saw his father’s house. The school building was a mansion; a great grey structure with pillars and statues everywhere. The lawns around them were well kept, with neatly designed flowerbeds and sculpted hedges. Ramsay smirked with amusement when he tried to imagine his sister living here. His smile widened as an elderly lady stepped out onto the highest step, with a young, pretty, brown-haired, doe-eyed girl at her side. She was wearing a uniform too; a neat navy blazer, deep blue jumper, tie, white shirt and pleated plaid skirt, just above the knee, socks covering her lower leg and sensible shoes.   
He definitely couldn’t imagine his sister living here, let alone regaining her sanity.  
“Roose.” The elder woman said, by way of greeting; her tone clipped and as neat as her front gardens. She regarded Ramsay coldly. He’d never met the woman before, but didn’t think twice about returning her frosty look. Then her gaze turned to Effie, who was slumped with weight mainly on her right side, arms crossed, looking around aimlessly. She was wearing what perhaps was her shortest dress, the material just about enough to cover her arse, as long as she didn’t bend over. That paired with the oversized plaid shirt, fishnet tights and Dr Marten boots made her look well and truly out of place. She would have looked out of place in any school, apart from St Trinians (which she had forced Ramsay to watch once, a long time ago).  
“Barbrey.” His father replied. Barbrey continued to look at Effie, scanning her with cold interest. “This must be Effie?” She asked, though it seemed more of an attempt to gain Effie’s attention. The attempt succeeded and Effie focused on the woman. Barbrey moved with grace as she descended the stairs and held out a pale, veined hand. Effie stared at it for a moment before taking it. The handshake did not last long, and Barbrey stepped back once it was done, subtly wiping her hand on her skirt, her gaze turning to Ramsay. “And you must be the brother.” She said, each word short and clipped, as if she wished to waste no more breath on him than needs must.  
“Ramsay.” He said through gritted teeth. Barbrey just nodded and turned to the brown-haired girl stood at the top of the steps. The moment her back was turned, Ramsay turned to Effie and rolled his eyes, making her smirk, then turned back to give Barbrey a charming smile as soon as she turned to face him again.  
“This is one of my students, Margaery.” She informed them. Ramsay smiled at the girl. She was even prettier up close. A little on the thin side though, but Ramsay wasn’t the picky sort. Margaery smiled confidently. “Hi.” She said brightly, looking from Ramsay to his sister. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Effie.” She said warmly.  
“Margaery will show you around while Mr Bolton and I talk.” Barbrey looked at Ramsay pointedly when she said her next words. “I would appreciate it if you did not disturb any of my students. Many of these girls are fragile, especially around boys.” Ramsay bit the inside of his cheek when he caught his father’s warning glance. He stared down at his feet and nodded.  
“Very good. I’ll leave it to you then Margaery.” Barbrey smiled tightly. The three of them waited until his father and Barbrey had gone inside.  
“The girls aren’t that bad. We aren’t all chained up at night and put into strait jackets!” Margaery laughed. Ramsay chuckled. Effie arched an eyebrow at him. “Shall we start off on the grounds? There’s quite a bit of walking I’m afraid. We’ve got thirty acres here at Barrowton House. We like to cater for all interests. That way there is plenty of things for us to do and we can all find an interest in something.” Margaery told them, leading the way down a concrete track.  
“All interests? Even, say, hunting?” Ramsay asked, checking out the girl’s behind as they went. Whether or not she was swinging her hips on purpose, he couldn’t tell.  
“Not hunting, as such. We do have an archery range and a shooting range, but no one is allowed to kill anything. Some of the girls can get a little touchy about killing.” Margaery looked at them both over her shoulder while she spoke, smiling all the while.   
“Right. So what else you got?” Ramsay asked, glancing around. More roads branched off to their left and their right, and Margaery indicated to each one as they passed. “Down there is the pool, over there is the gym, down here is the archery range I told you about, that down there is the art studios, as well as an art gallery, a theatre, and dance studios. We have acting lessons and dancing lessons. We can choose to do singing lessons too if we want.” Ramsay nodded, feigning interest. Effie looked around, her blue eyes bright with intrigue. She was always curious, but Ramsay wondered how she would fair in an institution full of girls. It had always been the girls at school she’d gotten into fights with, and the ones here were nutcases.  
“Down there is the stables. We don’t have many horses, but it’s fun to go out riding occasionally and blow out some cobwebs.” Margaery laughed a sugary laugh. “Do you like horses Effie?”   
Before his sister had a chance to shake her head, Ramsay answered on her behalf. “Effie _loves_ horses.” He said, turning to smirk at his sister. If she spoke, she could correct him. Instead she turned pale and gave him a murderous look. His smile only widened.  
“Anyway, where are we headed now?” He asked.  
“I thought I’d show Effie our happy place.” Margaery chimed, smiling at his silent sister. Ramsay somehow managed to turn his laugh into a coughing fit. “I’m sorry, your what?”  
“Our happy place.” She said again, her smile never faltering.  
“Right.” Ramsay wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but the image in his mind was like something out of the teletubbies; rolling green fields with little houses inside them, bright flowers dotting the grass, and a baby’s face instead of a sun.  
When they reached this ‘happy place’ it didn’t seem that far off. It was just a field, with flowers and trees, a pond, even a few benches. Girls lazed around in the sunshine, lying down on the soft green grass, sitting beneath the shades of the oak trees, reading, writing in notebooks, playing instruments, and sewing. Some were even dancing or chasing each other around. There was an element of unearthliness about it, as though he had died and gone to heaven.  
Ramsay very quickly decided he didn’t like heaven.  
“What are they doing?” He asked, staring at the group of girls dancing in a circle.  
“They’re trying to be happy. It’s hard for some people. That’s why we have a happy place. When things get too hard or we feel sad, we just come here and be ourselves and do what we want and what we need until we feel happy again.” Margaery told him. She turned to Effie and smiled warmly. His sister looked around with genuine curiosity and closed her eyes after a moment, drinking in the air. Ramsay just rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pockets.  
_Great, my sister has been sent to the loony bin.  
_ “Margaery!” They all turned to see a tall redhead walking towards them, dressed in the same uniform as Margaery, a copy of Pride and Prejudice clutched tightly to her chest. Ramsay’s eyes narrowed, then a smile played upon his lips when he put a name to the face. “Sansa Stark, what a pleasure to see you looking so well.” He said, beaming madly. Sansa’s gait did not falter, and she continued towards them until she was stood beside Margaery.  
“It’s good to see you too Ramsay.” She smiled warmly. They had met at several social gatherings, though they had rarely spoken. Effie may have seen her more often as she had once been friends with Joffrey’s sister.  
“You remember my sister Effie, don’t you?” He asked, then his smile turned wicked. “Joffrey’s other reject.”  
Margaery pursed her lips, her smile gone. She turned to Sansa, whose smile had also faded, and gently took her hand. Ramsay just smirked at Effie’s thunderous expression. “Was it something I said?” He asked her. Effie rolled her eyes and looked away.  
“It’s good to see you again Effie.” They both turned to look at Sansa, who was smiling at his sister gently. “I’m sorry to hear about what happened to you.”  
“ _To_ her?” Ramsay scoffed. Sansa’s gaze switched back to Ramsay then. Her eyes were cold and accusing. “There are two sides to every story. I’m sure, when she’s ready, Effie will tell hers. Won’t that make for an interesting tale?” The amused smirk was slapped from Ramsay’s face. It was entirely possible that Sansa knew what Effie’s role had been. She had lived with the Lannisters for years, and Effie had fucked every Lannister Ramsay knew of, except for Cersei of course.  
Sick of the smug look on Sansa’s face, Ramsay looked away from the two girls and at his sister. To his relief, she wasn’t smiling, but that made her look no less unsettling.  
_I could tell them. I could tell everyone._  
Ramsay’s brows furrowed together. _You wouldn’t dare._  
Effie looked away.  
“I think we should head back up to the house now.” Ramsay announced, taking hold of Effie’s arm and pushing her back up the track, not bothering to wait for the other two.

“It won’t be for long. Only until the girl is well again and the media storm has died down.” Roose gazed out of the window, watching a gang of girls sat on the lawn, talking and laughing with one another.  
“You are aware that in order to progress she will require therapy?” Barbrey asked, hands clasped on the desk.  
“Yes.” He replied, apparently unperturbed.  
“And no doubt that will require her delving into her past with the therapist.” Roose said nothing. “Is there anything I need to be warned about? I swear that the man is very good at keeping secrets. Nothing he hears goes past my ears. But even so, I ought to have some knowledge on where she’s come from. No one else seems to know anything about her. I should know Roose, you owe me that much.” Barbrey sat back in her chair as Roose turned to face her.     
“Owe you?”   
“Rebuilding someone’s mind is a little trickier than destroying a body, Roose. I’ve worked with you for a while. I know how it goes.” She smiled a cold smile. Roose returned it with its own. “Good times.” He said. Barbrey’s smile thawed a little.  
“Very well. Ramsay has told me everything that needs to be known. She grew up with him and their mother on the estate. She doesn’t know who her father is. When she was twelve, Ramsay drugged her and raped her before leaving their abusive mother to live on the streets. On the streets Ramsay whored her out to men. At some point he had her sterilised. Social services eventually found them a place to live, Ramsay said they didn’t seem all that bothered about his age just did whatever was easiest. There he continued to sell her out to his friends in exchange for money. When I found them my only purpose was to take Ramsay home until I learned of her talents. It seemed like a good opportunity and it has served me well until recent months.” Roose informed, fixing her with his cold gaze. Utterly unabashed by what he’d said and what he’d done.  
“Well I dare say I’ve had worse cases.” Barbrey sighed, making notes in her black book. Roose just smiled. “I shall do all I can for the girl, though by the look of her I can’t promise she’ll cooperate.”  
“She’ll cooperate. She knows what becomes of bad investments.” Roose’s smile turned cruel.  
“You seem quite determined to keep hold of this girl.” Barbrey arched an eyebrow.  
“Yes, well, the bastard did beg me. I suppose it serves as a reward for his work.”  
“Tea?” Barbrey inquired, standing up and moving to her leather sofa where a teapot and some cups and saucers had been laid out for them.  
The silence dragged on for a long while, though they felt no need to fill it. Silence was just a thing with Roose, and Barbrey had always liked it that way.  
“How is Domeric?” She asked after a while. There were somethings she could not remain silent about. A flicker of annoyance flitted across Roose’s face but she paid it no mind.  
“Same as always. Left four years ago, didn’t come back.” Roose repeated the same line he had used over and over.  
“Because he learnt you killed his friend.” She replied with the same reply she always used. Roose gave her his warning glance. “Don’t give me that look. You did me a favour that day. I bear no love for the Starks, but Domeric did. You could have handled it better.” Barbrey scolded.  
“Perhaps. It’s the family business. I have no use for him if he cannot make the cut.”  
“And I suppose the bastard makes this cut?” She spat, tasting the venom in her mouth as she thought of the smirking boy she’d met this morning.  
“Yes.”  
“That as it may be, Domeric is your trueborn son, not something you squirted into some whore on an estate god knows where. He’ll come home one day.” Barbrey placed her cup and saucer back on the coffee table, leaving words unsaid and heavy in the air. _And what will he think when he does?_


	25. Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you knew, that I could take the pain  
> Inflicted at the battle  
> With faithful arrows  
> You might get back in the saddle  
> But It's a special death you saved

Her room was neat and well set out, with a single bed on one side, a desk along the other, a computer, and bookshelves with all the classics on it as well as books she would need for her classes. There was also a bible, which Ramsay was flicking through while she unpacked her stuff into boxes underneath the bed. He’d never read the bible before. It proved to be as dull as he expected.  
“Noah should have slaughtered the animals. If he’s going to be in a boat for so long, he’s going to need food. And if he’s taking all the animals, does that mean he has woodpeckers? Because that could just ruin the whole thing.” He thought out loud, stretching out on Effie’s bed. “No wonder people don’t believe in God if he writes this bullshit.” His sister ignored him, and continued meticulously folding her clothes up and placing them in boxes. Ramsay waited until her suitcase was empty, and watched as she quickly tried to think of something else to do that would mean she didn’t have to pay him any attention. She was looking around frantically now, and stood up to begin reorganising the books on the shelf.  
“Come here.” Ramsay ordered. Effie turned around and gave him that blank stare. “Don’t do that.” He snapped. “Do I have to ask you a second time? You know how much I hate asking a second time.” There was something about the way she looked at him nowadays that ground his gears. He never meant to lose his temper with her, but somehow he always did.  
Effie moved forward and perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the desk opposite them. Rolling his eyes, Ramsay sat up, not caring when his legs hit her back as he swung around to sit beside her. “You don’t have to stay here you know. You could go home right now if you just spoke. If you told them all you were better.” Effie continued to stare at the desk, refusing to look at him. Ramsay’s patience with her was gone now. How _dare_ she just ignore him? For weeks now, that look always made him doubt himself, and all that he’d done for her.  
“Fine. Stay here, if you think the loony bin is where you belong.” He hissed. Grabbing Effie’s chin, he yanked her head around, forcing her to look him in the eye. “But never forget who you belong to. Who you’ve always belonged to. I had to beg him, Eff. On my knees, begging for him not to just sell you off. Or worse. So you fucking owe me. Get better. Come back, and things will go back to normal. And if you _dare_ hurt yourself again, I’ll make you wish you had succeeded the first time.” He kissed her then, full on the lips, claiming her like he used to do when she was a child. Only when there was a knock on the door did he break away. Effie’s lips had gone red and looked sore, and they were both a little flushed. He waited a moment before opening the door and finding a large woman who was holding a plastic box and scowling at him. She had a face that suggested she scowled at everyone.  
“Can I help you?” Ramsay asked.  
“I’m the dorm mistress. I have been sent to collect her things.” She informed, her voice bordering on robotic.  
“What things?” The woman was done paying him any attention and pushed past him. “Hey!” He cried out as he thumped against the wall. She continued to pay him no heed, slamming the box down on the bed and fixing Effie with her scowl. “Laptop and any electronics you have with you. You’ll get them back at weekends but not before.” The woman told her while taking a pile of clothes out of the box. Ramsay recognised the pile as the school uniform. “You are only allowed your own clothes on weekends. Skirts must be no more than two inches above the ground when you are kneeling. If they are higher than the restriction, you will be given detention. Understood?” Effie glared for a moment, then gave a single nod of understanding. “Good. You will receive your timetable later on. Dinner is served at seven. Arrive late and you’ll go hungry. Now, electronics.” Ramsay watched as Effie placed her laptop, her phone, and her iPod into the box.  
“How am I supposed to contact her?” He asked, thinking of what the woman’s head would look like if he bashed it in.  
“She’ll get her phone back at weekends. It will be up to her to call you from the communal phone if she wishes to speak to you.” Ramsay highly doubted Effie would call him. Once Effie was done handing over her things, the woman made her own way into the ensuite bathroom, and reappeared holding three razors Effie had brought to shave her legs and such with. They were wrapped up and put in the box as well.  
“What? Do all the girls have hairy legs around here?” Ramsay mumbled.  
“Considering your sister’s mental state, it is important we do not allow her the opportunity to do herself harm.” The woman-robot informed. Ramsay moved out of the way as she marched from the room with the box of Effie’s things. His sister was sat on the bed again now, staring out of the window.  
“Well she seems like a bundle of joy.” Ramsay joked, shutting the door. Effie continued to look out the window, up at the blue sky. “Just come home Eff. Please?” Still she did not look at him. Before he could let his rage out on her again, his phone began to ring. Ramsay kept an eye on Effie while he greeted the caller. “Hello Damon.” Her whole frame seemed to seize up momentarily and she looked away from the window. She stared at the floor, but Ramsay knew she was listening to every word.  
“Are you there yet?” Damon asked.  
“Yep. At the loony bin now.” Ramsay chuckled, watching Effie who remained eerily still.  
“Ramsay, stop trying to get a fucking reaction from her. She’s not a form of entertainment.” He could hear the anger in his friend’s voice.  
“Alright calm down! She’s not _your_ sister.” Ramsay rolled his eyes.  
“Can I speak to her?”  
“She’s not feeling all that talkative right now.”  
“Ramsay this isn’t one of your fucking games. Just let me talk to her.” Damon’s voice was pleading.  
“Speak to me like that once more and you’ll never talk to her again.” Ramsay warned. His friend’s concern was very amusing, but there was a line.  
“Fine, I’m sorry. Please can I speak to Effie?”  
“You can try.” Laughing to himself, Ramsay held the phone out to Effie. To his surprise, she took it and pressed the phone to her ear. He couldn’t quite make out what Damon was saying, but it didn’t sound like much, probably due to the fact Effie remained silent for the duration of the call. Her face showed that his words had some effect though. Her brows were furrowed together, as though she were in pain, and her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. Ramsay snatched the phone away. Why could she react to what Damon said to her, but not what he said?  
“We’ve got to go, she’s not allowed a phone here.” Ramsay told him, not giving him the chance to say any more before hanging up. Effie was still staring at the floor as Ramsay shoved his phone back in his pocket, glaring at her angrily all the while.  
“He only fucked you because I said he could, and you were all he could get. Don’t fucking forget that Effie.” He growled. Effie pursed her lips and looked up at him with hate-filled eyes. “I’ll see you when you’re better.” He said, ignoring her look and leaving her there without another word.

“Oh goodie, roast beef. Again. You know you’d think Miss Dustin had something against cows and was just trying to murder all of them.” Margaery sighed, stabbing the meat and holding it up to inspect it, waiting until the gravy had stopped dripping off before putting it back on her plate.  
“You’d better eat that, otherwise you’ll be put back in therapy.” Sansa said cautiously. Smiling, Margaery picked up a chunk of carrot and popped it in her mouth. “Better Unella?” She giggled. Sansa just smiled and carried on neatly sawing through the tough, grey meat. “Besides, therapy isn’t so bad. We used to have great conversations.” She added.  
“Yeah, that were no doubt repeated to Ms Dustin.” Sansa muttered bitterly. Smiling sympathetically, Margaery was about to offer comfort when she was distracted by a figure in the dining hall. “Look at her, she’s like a lost little lamb.” Margaery said sadly. Sansa turned to look. “Lamb sounds about right. Being fed up for the slaughter.”  
“Oh god.” Margaery gasped.  
“What? What’s wrong?”  
“She’s wearing Dr Martens with her school uniform.” Margaery glanced around to see if any of the teachers had noticed.  
“Oh shit.” Sansa’s voice was hushed.  
“Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll get her to come and sit with us, then at least her feet will be under the table. Then we’ll take her back to my room and find her some shoes.” Margaery was already waving, trying to get Effie’s attention.  
“Good plan.” Sansa said.   
“Effie! Over here!” The girl looked neither relieved, nor concerned when she spotted Margaery. She just headed over wordlessly and placed the tray on the table. “I’d love to say it wasn’t all roast beef, but I’d be lying.” Margaery giggled. Effie offered a small smile and sat down beside her.  
“What do you think of your room?” She asked. Effie just shrugged. The girl seemed to have taken a vow of silence, and Margaery exchanged a look with Sansa who smiled and nodded knowingly. They could work with this.  
“The rooms are kind of small aren’t they? Let me guess. Mistress Unella came and took some of your things away? Phone, laptop, iPod? Bet she gave you the low down too.”  
“Skirts must be no more than two inches above the ground. When kneeling.” Sansa’s impression was spot on, and even Effie cracked a smile. They all carried on eating in silence for a time, Margaery and Sansa sneaking glances at Effie and each other, trying to work the girl out. She was like a blank canvas. Margaery had of course heard of the girl. It was hard not to when she had been in almost every magazine and newspaper Margaery read. She’d read almost all her interviews, but everything about the girl’s past didn’t add up. Effie had told a different story in every interview. As a Tyrell, Margaery felt it was in her blood to sniff the story out.  
“Your brother seems nice.” She said, watching Effie for her reaction, though she could see Sansa giving her a warning glance. Immediately, Margaery tried to cover her tracks. Sansa knew more about the girl’s history than she did, but she hadn’t been locked up in a school for the past five years.  
“I’ve got three brothers. Willas, Garlan, and Loras. You might have met some of them! Willas is quite busy, he owns a racing yard. But Garlan and Loras go to quite a few social events. Though Loras is setting up his own branch of nightclubs now.” Effie just carried on eating, but Margaery persevered. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. “They come and visit me from time to time, though they have to get permission from Ms Dustin first. Do you think your brother will come and visit you?” Effie pushed her plate away as if the thought of her brother put her off her food. _Excellent_.  
“You should probably eat that. Otherwise they’ll think you’re starving yourself and give you extra therapy sessions, and there is only so much of them you can take. Believe me. I was sent here five years ago. My dad was pushing my modelling so much and was keeping me on this really strict diet. Eventually I freaked out and stopped eating, so I got dumped here. Now I’m all better, but dad won’t let me out. They give me extra therapy if I don’t eat anything. And I get put into isolation for the day to think about my life choices. It’s all very dull.” Margaery smiled at the girl, who had turned to look at her the moment she’d started telling her own sob story.  
“Eat, Effie.” Sansa commanded gently, pushing the plate back towards her. The two smiled at each other sadly, and Effie began eating again.

“You’ll be put in detention for those shoes.” Margaery told her once dessert was finished. “Come on, you can borrow some of mine. Size six right?” Effie nodded. The three girls stood up and hurriedly put their trays away. Once outside the hall, Margaery saw a gang of girls heading towards them, their eyes fixed on Effie. Exchanging looks with Sansa, the two girls moved out of the way, leaving Effie to her fate. The little lamb didn’t notice she was in the slaughter house until it was too late, and Obara’s shoulder almost shoved her to the ground.  
“Watch it new girl.” The girl growled, her accent thick. Effie dared to glare back, Sansa nudged Margaery and she smiled. Looks like they were in for some entertainment. “Are you glaring at her new girl?” Nymeria asked.  
“I think she is.” Tyene stepped up, practically dancing closer. The lamb was surrounded now. “You dare to glare at me new girl?” Obara towered over her, but Effie did not back away. She glanced behind her at the crowd that had formed before turning back to face the predators.  
No one expected her to land the first blow.  
As usual, Tyene and Nymeria left Obara to the fighting. She was the biggest, the most experienced, and the best at getting the measure of fresh meat quickly. Plus, they wanted to make it a fair fight, though Obara’s size and skill usually worked in her favour. This lamb was giving it her all though. “Someone has a lot of bees in their bonnet.” Margaery giggled. Sansa just smiled in reply, gazing at her. “Five pounds says Effie wins?” The odds were stacked against her, but Margaery was an experienced gambler.  
“Sure thing.” Sansa laughed.  
Neither one of them won due to Mistress Unella arriving to see they were all out of the dining hall. “Obara Sand, Effie Snow, stop this madness at once.” She ordered, her bark deep and threatening. The two rolled apart. Obara had a fat lip, which did little to mar her already bullish appearances. Effie’s nose was bleeding and she had a black eye growing. “Now who started this foolishness?” Unella asked, fixing the two girls with her customary scowl. Neither girl replied. “Confess!” The mistress barked.  
“Went at it at the same time.” Obara answered. Unella scowled for a moment longer, glancing over at the new girl who did well to hide her confusion. “Very well. You each get a warning. This happens again and it’s detention for the both of you.” Unella only then seemed to notice the crowd. “Don’t you girls have places to be?” The crowd scattered as though an earthquake warning had sounded. Margaery held her breath as Unella’s gaze fell on Effie’s shoes. “Those are not uniform, Miss Snow.”  
“We were just about to find her some new ones, Miss. She didn’t know.” Sansa piped up. For a moment, they both thought Effie might be dragged off to detention, but Unella seemed to be feeling generous today. “Very well. If I see them on again with your uniform I shall take the things away, understood?” The mute nodded. They all waited until Unella was gone before moving. Obara leapt to her feet with a grace not matching her build. Sansa and Margaery exchanged a smile as she offered out an olive-skinned hand to the bloody lamb. “You were a good fight for someone so scrawny.” Obara admitted. Effie stared at the hand in confusion and took it with caution. Obara pulled her to her feet effortlessly. “Welcome to the loony bin, Effie Snow.” Obara’s lips curled into what could have been a smile, then she turned and the three sisters retreated up the stairs to their rooms, leaving Margaery and Sansa to talk Effie through the initiation process she had just experienced.   


	26. Therapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tell me your secrets  
> And ask me your questions  
> Oh, let's go back to the start

His footsteps were mere whispers of silk on carpet as he swept into the room, closing the heavy oak door behind him before tucking his hands up into the silken sleeves of his jacket.  
“You must forgive my tardiness…Effie, is it?” He asked, perching on the grand armchair opposite her and pouring them both a cup of tea with his bone china tea set. “Ef-fie. What an unusual name, is it short for something? Elizabeth, perhaps?” The girl ignored him and sniffed at her tea suspiciously. “It’s only camomile tea dear, just to help you relax.” Effie took a sip, then set it back down on the table, her face betraying no hint of whether she approved of the herbal remedy or not.  
“Very well, let’s begin then shall we? I’m Varys, the resident therapist here at Barrowton House. I know what you’re thinking, but I can assure you I’m not like most therapists. This is more like a little chit-chat, a way to get things off that young chest of yours. I promise that nothing you say will leave this room. I’m very good at keeping secrets.” He assured her, setting up the recorder on the coffee table between them.  
“Now, Effie, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Varys was a patient man. He had to be, doing what he did. But if he had hair he would be tearing it out by now. The minutes ticked by, and Effie said not a word. He tried everything he could think of, yet she remained silent; legs crossed, staring out of the window or picking off the varnish on her nails. At around the fifteen minute mark, she began to drum her fingers against the leather couch.  
It was a battle of wills that Varys was losing. Sighing, he turned off the recorder. “I am here to help you, Effie, and I _want_ to help you. But you won’t get better if you don’t try.” A cloud seemed to cross Effie’s face momentarily and she turned her head to look him in the eye.  
Varys had learnt to read what was in a face. _I want to get better_ she told him. He nodded with understanding. Whatever had happened to this girl in the past, it haunted her every moment.  
“Here’s what I want you to do Effie.” Varys said, rising and mincing over to his desk. “I want you to write down your story.” He pulled out a neat, leather-bound book. The paper still smelled like new. “Write it however you wish. First person, third person, note form. You can draw comic strips if you want. However your mind allows you to tell it. And I don’t need to see it either, if you don’t want me to. It is for your eyes only unless you wish to share it. It’s your story, it’s up to you to choose who knows it.” He held the book out to her and Effie took it hesitantly, holding it as though it were something that could do her harm. “This could really help you Effie, I promise.” He vowed, smiling kindly. His patient nodded wordlessly. “I’m going to prescribe some Olanzapine as well, to prevent a relapse. I’ll suggest some mood stabilizers too. You’ll have to go to the nurse daily for your medication. I’ll have your dorm mistress remind you each day, and you can start immediately.” He informed cheerfully, already typing up the information to send to the nurse. Fortunately a medical form had been filled in prior to their meeting, so he didn’t have to attempt to get her to talk again.

Jeyne stared at the screen, reading the name over and over until the letters no longer made sense. Of all the people in the world, why her? Jeyne had been doing so well. She had finally gotten her life back together and was helping young girls to do the same. Some of whom had been through similar ordeals to her own, and others had suffered worse.  
Effie was thirteen the last time Jeyne had seen her. A gangly, underdeveloped body with a promising, pretty face. Of course, she had seen pictures of her in magazines and newspapers since then. It was hard to escape it. Each image served as a painful reminder, as though Ramsay himself were there, dealing invisible blows with the fists she’d grown to fear. Effie had played no part in his games, though sometimes he hadn’t noticed that she was there, watching. The girl seemed to be the only thing Ramsay remotely cared about, despite what he had made her do. Jeyne knew about all that too, but the girl seemed to have gone along with it willingly enough, and she would always be Ramsay’s property. She belonged to him. And being near his property was terrifying enough. The thought of him knowing her whereabouts was inconceivable.  
Jeyne was still staring at the name when there came a knock at the door. “C...come in.” She stammered out after taking three deep breaths.  
And there she was. The observer of her nightmares. The blue-eyed child robbed of childhood. A wraith come back to haunt her.  
Jeyne stood up without a word and hurried off to find the prescribed medication. But she could still feel those blue eyes on her, and a part of her knew the girl was begging for her to say something; crying out in the silence, desperate for someone to understand.  
Jeyne did, but that made her no less afraid.  
“I always wondered how long it would be before you ended up in a place like this.” She blurted out bitterly in a desperate bid to diminish the desperate silence. “For how long it would take you to realise what your brother is, and what he’s done. To me. To you.” Jeyne finally felt brave enough to turn and meet those sad blue eyes that had always seemed so sad; longing for someone to want her. A small part of Jeyne did pity her. She wanted to tell her she understood, that the girl could find help here, and that she was safe now.  
But there was another part of Jeyne that had been installed from years of torment and terror at Ramsay’s hand that wouldn’t let her see past what Effie was; Ramsay’s property. Dangerous.  
“Of all the girls in the world that need help, why did you have to be the one to darken my doorway? Why now?” Effie looked away, as though remorseful for atrocities she never committed. “Do you have any idea how long it’s taken me to put my life back together? To be brave enough to carry on? I wanted to die. He made me want that. Then I decided that I was going to fight him. For once, I wasn’t going to do something he’d forced me into. But it doesn’t stop me from checking over my shoulder every time I go to the shops or walk to work.” Her voice had grown shrill and angry tears stung the back of her eyes. “Here.” She spat, slamming the pill down on her desk for Effie to take. “Take it and get out.” Jeyne turned away, determined not to let Effie see her cry. She would have to leave now. Leave this life she had built for herself and run again, before he could find her.  
“I won’t tell him you work here.” The voice was flat and lifeless. “I promise.” It were as though the life had been drained from her, and Jeyne instantly regretted everything she’d said. Had Ramsay not done the same to her? Sucked the happiness and everything that was worth living for out of her until she was nothing but a hollow shell.  
The Effie she’d known, who’d always had something to say and a secretive smile to give, was gone. This Effie had seen too much, and lived too long.  
“Thank you.” Was the only reply Jeyne could come up with.

“You really should stick to wrestling and running.” Anguy chuckled as the arrow sailed past the target and into the bushes beyond.  
“Practise makes perfect.” Brienne said through gritted teeth for perhaps the hundredth time.  
“That may be so, but you’ve got a sweaty gym to clean and I actually want to get home sometime today.” He shrugged the quiver of arrows onto his shoulder and held out a hand for the bow.  
“Fine.” The PE teacher huffed, relinquishing her weapon. “But it’s the same again tomorrow.”   
“Yes Miss.” With a brusque nod, she thanked him for his help, turned on her heal and marched up the track with all the precision of a soldier. Anguy just shook his head and smiled, amused by the woman’s determination to become a master archer. He had a mind to ask her for advice on never giving up, but it was much more fun having her think she was the only one that needed help.  
Quickly putting the bow and quiver to bed, Anguy locked up and wondered if Jeyne would accept his offer to give her a lift home today. He’d been trying for weeks, and was doing his best to spend time with her when he could. The school nurse was understandably tentative, especially around men, but the more Anguy got to know her, the more he liked her.  
Of course, as a nurse, she disapproved of his smoking habit. He never smoked in the car so she wouldn’t smell anything if she did take him up on his offer one day, and he had cut down; only smoking one in the morning before work, one at break and lunch, and one when he’d finished for the day. And that was where he was headed now; his usual smoking spot overlooking the fake animals the students shot at once they had progressed from the standard targets.  
When Anguy reached the place however, he discovered someone had beaten him to it. They weren’t smoking; just staring out over the field, deep in thought.  
“You’re in my smoking spot.” He stated with a smile, making the girl’s head snapped around to look at him. He recognised her, of course, from the papers. Effie Snow went to stand up and leave. “It’s okay, you can stay. You are allowed wherever you want.” He said gently. She continued to stand, but turned back to look across the fields. Pulling out a cigarette, Anguy kept a four foot gap between them. Some girls reacted badly to male company, and for good reason in some cases. But Effie turned and looked at the cigarette longingly.  
“Go on then. Larry the lion isn’t going to tell anyone.” He said, holding out a cigarette and nodding towards the foam lion target. Her face was half obscured by hair, but Anguy could tell she’d been crying from her tear stained cheeks. “Rough day?” He asked. Effie Snow said nothing, and took another pull of her cigarette. This must be the student Taena, the drama teacher, had been complaining about. "She simply refuses to speak. How am I meant to teach her drama if she will not say the lines I give her?” The woman had said, flailing her arms about wildly and pacing up and down the staff room.  
“You could always try mime.” Anguy had suggested, making the others all laugh at her.  
“Go fuck yourself Robin Hood.” She’d spat at him, bumping into Jeyne on the way out. Anguy chuckled at the memory. He loved winding up the conventional teachers, just like he did when he was a boy. In fact even more so, because now they couldn’t punish him for it.  
“You ever tried archery?” He asked the mute beside him. She shook her head. “You should. Might do you some good. You could come down and try it the next time you’ve got enrichment.” Anguy suggested. “There, that’s my job done.” It was perhaps one of the queerest exchanges he’d ever had; sharing a fag on a hillside with a student that didn’t talk, casually suggesting she try his subject.   
They just sat there, smoking in silence, both thinking about their own problems. It was nice to know others had problems too though.

“One day Varys I’ll actually arrive on time for something!” He stood up at the sound of her voice and turned around, opening up his arms to embrace her.  
“Dany, darling, I’m just glad to see you at all! It really has been too long.” He gushed, planting a kiss on each pale cheek. Smiling, she sat down opposite and ordered a glass of wine. “You look well Varys. I take it things are well with you?” She asked, scanning the menu which she held so high that it obscured her face.  
“Daenerys, dear,” He hooked a finger over the top of the menu and pulled it down so that he could see her. “Tell Varys all about it.”  
“About what?” Her eyes grew wide, feigning innocence.  
“I can always see through that face missy. Come on. What’s troubling you?”  
“Fine.” Daenerys sighed. “I’m just a little stressed, that’s all. My second years aren’t doing as well as I’d hoped. They don’t take the coursework seriously at all, every one of them missed the deadline I’ve set for the first draft. Most didn’t even know the lines for the pieces _they_ created!” When her glass of wine arrived, she took a deep drink.  
“Honey, try working at a mad house.” Varys chuckled. Dany smiled. Talking to Varys had always helped her. Even now, when Barrowton House was far behind her, they still met up whenever they could for therapy, though it had been months since their last chat.  
“Yes, how are things at Barrowton?” Her eyes filled with curiosity and she rested her chin on her hands, ready for him to tell her a story.  
“Dreary as ever. Barbrey seems intent on turning it into some sort of asylum; keeping the girls to strict schedules, no mobile phones, laptops, iPods, souls. The poor things. No wonder I have to see so many of them. They aren’t allowed any contact with the outside world. Even the computers in their rooms have had social media sites blocked from them. Nightmare.” Varys tutted, taking a sip of his own wine. “Some exciting news though.” The two leaned in. “I know I should respect patient confidentiality and all that, but this one’s different, and I can trust you. She’s quite well known, bit of a wreck if you ask me. Tried to commit suicide a few weeks ago, terrible business. You must have seen her in the papers. Effie Snow?”  
Dany paled and her hand tightened around the glass. “God.” She breathed, her gaze going distant as she slumped back in her chair.  
“Awful isn’t it?”  
“I know her.” Her voice was barely a whisper.  
“Well of course, everyone _thinks_ they do.” Varys sighed.  
“No, I really do. Well, sort of. She was in my A2 drama class, the one I’m teaching now. I was her form tutor too.” If Varys had had the ears of a horse, they would have pricked up at that.  
“Really?” He asked, sensing an opportunity. “Well the girl says nothing these days. I don’t know what to do with her. I could really do with some help.” Varys arched a neatly plucked eyebrow.  
“What kind of help?” Dany’s gaze suddenly turned cold and cautious.  
“It’s for the girl’s own good, Dany darling. I could just do with a bit of outside information is all. Just anything you know already, there’s no need to put yourself out.” Dany rolled her eyes at that, but he could already tell he had won. She wanted to help the girl as much as he did. “Fine.” Dany muttered. “But we could both lose our jobs for this Varys. You owe me big time.”


	27. Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And there's a spark in your centre that's piercing me in  
> I got a night-time shudder and a lion within  
> I got a brain-tricked hunger and you're pulling me in

They seemed to have made friends, despite Effie’s refusal to speak. Margaery and Sansa knew better than to try. She would speak when she was ready. Effie spent most of her time with them. Either in the happy place or in Margaery’s room. Margaery hated being cut off from the outside world, and had long ago hatched a plan to keep hold of her phone and laptop; handing in decoys in place of the actual ones instead. Her laptop had full, unadulterated access to the internet too, and so rainy days were spent with the three girls crammed into Margaery’s room browsing through Facebook, twitter, and Instagram or watching Netflix.  
Effie usually had out the book Varys had given her, and was always writing as though her life depended on it; even sneaking it out during lessons. Margaery and Sansa also had notebooks of the same design, though they had both finished writing out their stories long ago.   
“They really do work you know.” Margaery had insisted when she’d seen it. “You can write down everything, and anything that has frightened you just becomes fiction. The people that have hurt you are just characters. They aren’t real. They can never harm you again.””  
“Just don’t show it to Varys.” Sansa warned.  
“We think the whole ‘patient confidentiality’ thing is bullshit.” Margaery explained.  
“We don’t _think_ , we _know.”_ Sansa insisted.  
They needn’t have worried. Effie never showed the book to anyone. During her therapy sessions, she continued to write down her story in silence after Varys told her she could write if she preferred that over talking. “Can I read it?” He’d ask after every hour ended. Effie just gave a small, secretive smile, clutched the book to her chest, and left him there to wonder whether his work was helping her at all.  
 Effie did appear to be happier. Colour had returned to her cheeks, she smiled, she laughed. She had joined several of the sports teams, including the cross-country running team with Margaery and Sansa. Brienne was impressed with her endurance. During enrichment, she went down to the archery range. Anguy was a good teacher, and it wasn’t long before she was filling the foam animals with arrows.  
The cut on her wrist was healing well, and Jeyne had declared it well enough to remove the bandages permanently. After their first meeting, tensions between the nurse and the student had receded to a mutual vow of silence. Jeyne handed Effie her medication, Effie took it and smiled her thanks. That was all.

It was a rainy Monday afternoon, during one of their therapy sessions, that Varys interrupted Effie’s frantic writing to deliver some news. “There is to be a visitor’s day soon, the Saturday after next, for those well enough to see friends and family. Ms Dustin will give further details in assembly tomorrow, though she has asked me to ask you whether or not you wish to extend an invite to any friends or family. It is up to you whether or not you feel well enough.” Effie stared at him, a look of fear sweeping across her face. “I’ll give you time to think on it, you don’t have to decide now.”  
“I don’t want to see anyone.” He pretended not to be surprised by the fact she had spoken.  
“And why not?” He pried. Effie just smiled that secretive smile as the timer rang out, signalling their session had reached its end. Clutching her book tightly to her chest, Effie wordlessly left the room, this time leaving Varys to figure out her obscure past.

Margaery’s brothers were all busy; Willas had a big horse race that day, Loras was preparing to open a new club in town that night, and Garlan had gone to Dubai with their mother and father on a business trip. As usual, her grandmother had not been permitted leave from the nursing home she was locked up in to come and see her. Besides her cousin Megga, Margaery was expecting no visitors and was instead assigned to help out during the morning and participate in the dance and running events in the afternoon.  
Margaery’s real job for the day was to keep her best friend from having a nervous breakdown. Unlike Effie and Margaery, Sansa was expecting visitors, though Margaery somewhat doubted the authenticity of their concern for Sansa’s progress.  
“I don’t think I can do this.” Her friend muttered, struggling with the top button of her school shirt. Despite it being a Saturday, they were all expected to wear school uniform.  
“Here.” Margaery gently pried Sansa’s shaking hands off of the shirt and did the top button up herself, then moving on to help her with the tie.  
“I don’t know why they’re coming. It’s not like they care about me, and Cersei hates me!”  
“Appearances. They have to at least _look_ like they care.” Margaery said, tightening the tie and holding out Sansa’s school jumper which she managed to put on herself. Once her blazer was on, Margaery stepped back. “There, all done.” She smiled her kindest smile and took Sansa’s hands in her own. “You can do this Sansa, I know you can. I’ll be in the library too, so just look to me if you need to. I’ll come straight over and help you out, I promise.” Sansa smiled at her, on the verge of tears.  
“You’re my best friend, you know that?” Sansa asked, flinging her arms around her and hugging her tightly.  
“And you’re mine.” Margaery laughed, patting and stroking her back soothingly. “Now come on, dry those eyes. Let’s throw ourselves to the lions!” She exclaimed dramatically, making Sansa laugh.

Effie had been told to help with making teas and coffees. It meant all she had to do was make the drinks, and she didn’t have to talk to anyone. It felt good to be helping out; nowadays she enjoyed simply observing the interactions between people. Living in her own world where verbal communication was lacking, she got a different perspective of things. She could learn someone’s personality and relationship just by watching them interact with others. Here at Barrowton, no one expected her to be anything or do anything other than get better.  
She was thinking about all the interactions she had seen already today as she headed to the kitchen to pick up more milk. The way Obara, Nym, and Tyene had eagerly embraced their cousin Arianne, then coldly acknowledged their uncle Doran. How Margaery’s cousin Elinor, a fellow resident at Barrowton, had cried out joyfully when she spotted her cousin Megga. Perhaps the most interesting relationship was one she’d been observing for a while now. Sansa and Margaery were always together, always with Sansa just that little bit behind so she could stare at her friend for just that bit too long whilst Margaery carried on, apparently oblivious to her friend’s attentions. It never failed to make Effie smile.  
Effie did not envy these relationships. She had learnt that the closer you were to a person, the easier it was for them to hurt you. She didn’t want to be hurt again. She didn’t want any more to do with the outside world really. In her world of silence, she was safe. It couldn’t last forever, of course. She’d move on when she needed to. When she had to.  
Her world of silence was almost shattered when two rough hands clamped down over her eyes and she almost cried out.  
“For your sake, I’m going to assume my invite was lost in the post.” Her brother growled. Effie swallowed nervously, but waited until he let her go rather than pushing him off. “Miss me, little sis?” Ramsay asked. Effie’s look offered no reply and she could see it irked him by the way the corners of his mouth twitched downwards. She had never noticed that before.  
Clutching the bottles of milk tighter, Effie stepped around him. But she wasn’t quick enough to escape as Ramsay’s hand struck out and bit into her wrist, digging into the ruined flesh from where she had cut herself.  
“It’s bad manners to abandon a visitor.” He snarled as she hissed in pain. “Honestly, what are they teaching you here? Perhaps you’d be better off at home.” Much to Effie’s annoyance, his words had the desired effect. The blood drained from her cheeks and her stomach writhed and twisted sickeningly at the thought of what awaited her back at Roose Bolton’s house.  
Easing her wrist out of his grip, Effie led the way out of the kitchen, waiting at the door and signalling for Ramsay to follow.  
They were almost at the library, where the visitors were convening for cake and drinks, when Ramsay ordered her to wait. Another wave of nausea crashed over her as Effie turned to see her brother staring intently at the list of staff members. Turning his head, Ramsay grinned a shark-like grin. “This day just gets better and better.” He chuckled darkly, tapping a name on the list with his finger. She didn’t need to move any closer to know which name had sparked his sadistic excitement.


	28. Arrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the waves they drag you down  
> Carry you to broken ground  
> Though I find you in the sand  
> Wipe you clean with dirty hands

His sister’s apparent misery had been amusing, but this…this was unprecedented.  
With one last glance at the name, he stepped away from the list and headed back towards Effie, grinning like a fool. His sister turned away from him wordlessly and headed over to where the tea and coffees were being served, abandoning Ramsay to help make drinks. With nothing better to do, he helped himself to a French Fancy and observed the people around him. He almost spat the cake out when he caught sight of three blondes sat around a table, interrogating a nervous-looking Sansa Stark.  
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He muttered to himself. Lady luck was with him today for sure. Glancing back to check Effie was still focused on making drinks, he practically swaggered over to the blond shits and their red-headed prey.  
Sansa noticed him first and her fearful look was momentarily replaced with confusion. “Ramsay? What are you-“  
“Invite got lost in the post.” He grinned at her. The blondes turned to look at him. Both Joffrey and his mother glared murderously while the girl (Myrcella, was it?) looked just as confused and concerned as Sansa.  
“What a surprise to see you here Joff. Are you planning on visiting both of your ex-girlfriends or is it just the one this time?”  
“You have a nerve just talking to me Bolton.” Joffrey sneered. Ramsay carried on regardless. “Effie’s just over there if you want to say hi. She might not be very talkative though. But hey, here’s an idea, you could always try beating some words out of her! That’s what you’re into, right? I’m sure they have a riding crop down at the stables that you could borrow.” Ramsay smirked as the blond shit leapt to his feet.  
“She was the one that begged me to hit her harder, bastard.” Joff hissed at him.  
“As if my son would go anywhere near your sister after what she did.” His mother growled.  
“Now now, let’s not judge Mrs Baratheon, you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with. The heart wants what it wants, right?” Ramsay grinned madly, relishing her look of fearful anger.  
“At least I don’t let my dad whore my sister out to whoever he wants. What was it Gregor Clegane did again? I heard both legs were dislocated.” Joffrey snarled just loud enough so only they could hear. Ramsay was on the verge of throwing a punch when he felt a hand on his arm and turned to see Effie staring up at him, her eyes pleading.  
“I’d break your nose Lannister, but my little sister already beat me to it.” He growled, slinging an arm around Effie’s slim shoulders.  
“What’s going on here?” They all turned at the sound of Barbrey Dustin’s sharp tones. There was an awkward moment of silence before Myrcella piped up. “We were just saying hello, Mrs Dustin. Effie and I are old friends.” Barbrey nodded, as though she were approving the lie. Turning to Ramsay, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I was under the impression you were not sent an invite.” Ramsay glanced at his sister, willing her to help him out. Effie remained silent. “I’d assumed it had gotten lost in the post.” He lied through gritted teeth.  
“Effie was asked whether or not she wished to invite visitors. If you did not receive and invitation, it was because she did not feel ready to see you. If you wish for your sister to get better, you must respect her wishes. Is that understood?” Ramsay glared at the old crone. How dare she scold him as though he were one of her students! He would have snapped back were he not painfully aware that everything he said to her would undoubtedly reach his father’s ears, and that the Lannisters were watching too. He dared not make a scene.  
“Yes, I understand.” Ramsay hissed, grinding his teeth.  
“Good. Now, it is up to Effie whether or not you remain for the rest of the day.” Ramsay turned to his sister and raised a brow expectantly. _Don’t you dare humiliate me_.  
Effie nodded her consent, though refusing to meet his gaze.  
“Very well. I recommend the two of you venture outside. Perhaps Effie could take you to the archery range? Her instructor tells me she shows promise.” The smile slowly returned to Ramsay’s face.  
The archery range. Perfect.

Ramsay vaguely recalled the track they were on from when Margaery had shown them around. Now though, bunting lined the track and clear signs had been put up to direct the visitors. There were no visitors around now due to them all having tea and coffee.  
He chatted merrily to his silent sister, telling her everything that had gone on at home since she’d been away.  
“Turned out Gilly was pregnant. Dad fired her as soon as he found out. He’s hired another one now, Walda’s her name I think. Seriously Eff, I’ve never seen a fatter woman. It’s hilarious! I swear I can hear her footsteps even from my floor.” Effie remained unsmiling, even a little bored. “Dad seems to have taken a shine to her though. You never know, we might have a stepmother when you get home.” Ramsay wouldn’t mind that at all. Walda seemed blissfully unaware of everything he and his father did, and Ramsay would spend hours slipping in jokes and hints that only his father picked up on, and couldn’t scold him for in front of Walda. It was very entertaining.  
“Don’t know if you’ll make bridesmaid though. Walda has a family as big as her. Plenty of ugly sisters and cousins. You’d be too pretty amongst that lot. There’s no way I’ll be getting laid at that wedding.” Even that didn’t make Effie smile, so Ramsay gave up and focused instead on thinking up a plan.

They were alone at the archery range apart from the instructor, who introduced himself as Anguy.  
“Effie shows great promise.” He praised, smiling warmly at his sister.  
“Really? I’d love to see.” Ramsay beamed with mock pride, wrapping a possessive arm around her shoulders.  
“Sure. I need to stay here to wait for visitors, but Effie knows what to do and where everything is.”  
“Great!” Ramsay said enthusiastically. Effie eyed him suspiciously before heading into the shed where presumably the bows and arrows were kept.  
“I hope you can see a change in her.” Anguy said to him. Ramsay frowned a little. “Hard to tell when she doesn’t say anything.” He replied.  
“Well she seems happy enough in lessons. The drama teacher is at a loss what to do with her though. I did suggest mime, but she told me to fuck off.” They both laughed.  
“Fucking drama teachers.” Ramsay muttered, smirking secretively.  
“Effie _has_ spoken a little though, only to the school nurse as far as I know.”  
“The nurse? You mean Jeyne?” Ramsay flinched with irritation. Why would Effie speak to Jeyne and not him? What had she ever done for her that he hadn’t?  
“You know Jeyne?” Anguy asked, frowning at him.  
“Oh yes, we go way back.” Ramsay smiled wickedly.  
Before the instructor could ask any more questions, Effie reappeared with a bow and a quiver full of arrows, and marched past them both without so much as looking at him. Rolling his eyes, Ramsay followed her, his hands balling into fists. He was quickly growing tired of his sister’s attitude. The instructor had said she was improving, so she could fucking act like she was.  
“Have fun!” Anguy called after them cheerfully, heading back into his hut to await the next visitors. With a deep sigh, Ramsay followed his sullen sister into one of the neighbouring fields where a zoo of foam animals had been set up. He took in the surroundings as his sister was setting up. The field was well sheltered; surrounded on all four sides by trees. The ground sloped away from them so any sound was going away from the entrance to the field. Ramsay grinned at how perfect it was.  
“Go on then, let’s see.” He urged. Effie gave him another searching look before knocking an arrow.  
He was surprised at how good his sister was. She hit every target she aimed at, not always hitting the bullseyes that had been carved onto the animals, but her arrows never went astray. Crossing his arms, he focused on her technique; how she never held the arrow to aim, trusting her eyes instead. While she was turned away, he took one of the arrows from her quiver and hid it behind his back.  
“Very good!” He praised, once her quiver was empty. “We’ll make a hunter out of you yet.” Effie turned to search for the lie in his eyes again. Ramsay just grinned. “Go get the arrows. I want to see you shoot again, just so we can be sure your new found talent is no fluke.” He chuckled, wrenching the bow from her grip. Effie watched him for a moment longer before turning away to fetch her arrows.  
The further she went, the more likely it was that he might miss his mark, and so Ramsay wasted no time readying his arrow and releasing it. Ramsay was a born hunter. The arrow bit into the meat of her calf, quickly turning the knee-high sock red with blood. Yelping in pain and surprise, his sister felt to the ground. He threw down the bow and ran to her, yanking out the arrow and pulling down her sock to see the wound. As he had hoped, it wasn’t too deep.  
“That looks like it hurts.” He muttered. When Effie glared up at him in response, he pressed a hand over it and applied pressure until she screamed. “Come on, talk. Do you think I’m that stupid? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Why will you speak to Jeyne and not me, huh? What has that bitch ever done for you that I haven’t?” He hissed at her. Effie whimpered but said nothing. Digging a bloodied hand into the dirt, Ramsay stuffed mud into the wound. “Looks like it might turn septic.” He sneered, ignoring her cries. “I think we need to take you to see the nurse.” Ramsay grinned and went to pick her up.  
“Wanker!” Effie spat up at him.  
Hissing, he yanked her up so that their noses were almost touching. “What was that little sister?” He snarled, his eyes burning into hers.  
“Wanker.” She repeated, her voice unshaking. For a moment, he was torn between going to find Jeyne, and giving his sister a beating. Rolling his eyes, Ramsay pulled her up and slung her over his shoulder. Her punishment could wait. “I think I preferred it when you didn’t talk.” He grumbled, hoisting her up so she was more secure.   
“Wanker.” Was her muffled reply. Her skirt had ridden up considerably to show the bottom of her arse and Ramsay slapped her there. “Stop fucking swearing.” He hissed.

Anguy was with another set of visitors when Ramsay appeared with Effie still slung over his shoulder, her leg bloody and still bleeding, and her arse hanging out. “What happened?” The instructor asked, taking a good look at the wound.  
“It was my fault. I distracted her and she lowered the bow and put an arrow through her own leg. I’m so fucking stupid.” Ramsay lied, forcing a guilty expression.  
“It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Let’s just get her inside.” Anguy replied, gesturing towards his hut.  
“No offence mate, but I’d rather take her to see the nurse. You know, a _professional_. She’s got a fuck load of dirt in it. It might be infected.” He insisted, trying to not let his frustration show.  
“Do you think you can manage carrying her?” Ramsay swung away as Anguy tried to get a glimpse of Effie’s face. _Nosy fucker_. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He assured, shrugging his sister up until he was sure his shoulder was digging into her uncomfortably.

“Help! Ahh, someone please…OW! It _really_ hurts!”  
It was not a voice that Margaery recognised but, like everyone else still in the library, she came running all the same.   
Effie was slung over her brother’s shoulder with her underpants fully on show, though Margaery guessed that hadn’t been her decision. Ramsay’s expression was thunderous, as though someone had just blown his cover. And perhaps they had.  
“And where, pray tell, are you going Master Bolton?” Barbrey asked, appearing at Margaery’s side.   
“I-“  
“Can someone _please_ take me to the school nurse? It really fucking hurts!” Effie cut her brother off. It was then that Margaery spotted the bloody gash on Effie’s calf. “I was just taking my sister to the nurse. She shot herself with an arrow.” Ramsay said before Effie could say any more. From where she was standing, Margaery could just about glimpse Effie’s face. Her eyes widened pleadingly and it were as if she’d been told the whole plan.  
“Mrs Dustin, perhaps Sansa should take Effie to the nurse. I can take care of Ramsay until she’s all fixed up.” Margaery piped up cheerfully.  
“We are supposed to be visiting Sansa. She has no business helping that girl with-“  
“That girl just got hit by an arrow. I think Sansa can be spared for a moment to help someone out, don’t you Mrs Baratheon?” Margaery cut Cersei off gently, with a sweet smile to sugar coat any hint of bitterness.  
“She’s right. Effie’s my friend, I want to help her out.” Sansa added quietly.  
“Well actually, Effie’s _my_ sister. I don’t want her walking on it. It might be infected.” Ramsay argued, glaring at Margaery.  
“I can carry her.” Everyone turned at the sound of Obara’s deep voice. Margaery bit back a smirk when she noticed Obara was a whole head taller than Ramsay.  
“It _is_ a rule on visitor’s day that visitors don’t stray from assigned destinations. I’m terribly sorry Ramsay. I’m sure Sansa and our nurse will take good care of your sister. Meanwhile Margaery will take care of you. Perhaps she’ll take you to watch some of our sporting events? Or the gallery if you’d prefer.” Even Barbrey appeared mildly amused as Ramsay’s face seemed to redden with both anger and embarrassment. Outnumbered, Ramsay set his sister down on the ground, not waiting for her to gain her balance before letting her go. Obara lifted her and slung her over her shoulder with ease, again revealing Effie’s black, lacy underpants.  
“Like that’s the first time we’ve all seen her underwear.” Joffrey sniggered.  
“Let’s go.” Obara ordered, marching away from them before Sansa had time to catch up. Margaery smiled at her friend, who appeared to be a great deal happier now that she was away from the Lannisters.   
Moving to stand beside Ramsay, Margaery watched and bit back laughter as the retreating Effie lifted her head, smiled a wicked smile at her brother and made a wanking gesture, mouthing the word ‘wanker’ at him.  
“So,” She said, turning to look at him. “Sporting events or the gallery?”


	29. Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I stopped talking when I was six years old   
> I didn't want anything more to do with the outside world   
> I was happy being quiet   
> But of course they wouldn't leave me alone

Jeyne’s head snapped up and she leapt to her feet when the door to her office crashed open. Obara marched in with an arse on her shoulder with Sansa following close behind.  
“What’s going on?” She gasped.  
“Shot herself in the leg with a bow and arrow.” Obara informed, setting her load down on the bed.  
“Allegedly.” Sansa added. Jeyne recognised Effie who looked at her and said nothing, just held up her leg for Jeyne to see. The gash looked worse than it was, but the mud would need to be cleaned out as soon as possible.  
“I need to get back.” Obara announced, striding from the room before anyone could thank her.  
Jeyne knelt down to get a good look at the leg. “It’s not deep, but it’ll need to be cleaned and bandaged. A bit of rest and you’ll be right as rain.” Jeyne feigned cheerfulness.  
“Miss Tarth wanted her to take part in the running race.” Sansa told her, perching on the bed next to Effie. Wiping away the blood and mud, Jeyne didn’t look up. “Run and tell her Effie won’t be running today. Doctor’s orders.” She said, focused intently on the wound. It was in an odd place on her calf; not in a position you would expect the arrow to be in if a person had shot themselves, but Jeyne had a feeling that wasn’t the whole truth.  
“You going to be okay Effie?” Sansa asked. Effie nodded silently and watched Jeyne work as her friend left. They sat in silence for a time, Effie hissing when Jeyne wiped at the wound with antiseptic.  
“This wasn’t an accident was it? He’s here, isn’t he? He knows I’m here.” Jeyne muttered quietly, her voice trembling a little. Effie nodded, biting her lip as Jeyne pressed a little harder to thoroughly clean out the wound. “Did you tell him I was here?” She asked, looking up at her and unable to suppress the accusatory look.  
“No.” Effie replied, shaking her head. “I didn’t invite him, he just turned up. He saw your name on the staff board. He wanted to see you, so he shot me with an arrow and pushed mud into it to make sure we had to see you.” Jeyne looked away from her. Ramsay had wanted to see her, but instinct told Jeyne that Effie had prevented that from happening.   
“You stopped him, didn’t you?” She asked quietly, gently wrapping the bandage around her calf. Effie’s silence explained everything. “Why did you do that?” Jeyne swallowed the lump in her throat, but the feeling of guilt was harder to keep down. Effie had no cause to help her, yet she had.  
“I’m sorry.” She mumbled. “I should have helped you…when you were younger…I should have told someone what he was doing to you…the police, or child services, or…” Her voice trailed off when she feared it might break. At the time she had feared Ramsay, and hated everything associated with him. Perhaps she’d been blinded by that fact.  
Carefully tying the bandage, Jeyne waited for Effie to say something. Anything. But the silence just dragged on and on. This time, Jeyne wasn’t sure what it meant. Did she agree? Was she mad at her for only just coming to this realisation? There was no trace of anger or hostility on her face. “If I’d done that, you might never have…you would be…” Jeyne babbled, desperate for the girl to speak.  
All Effie offered was a small, lopsided smile. That secretive smile she always used to have.  
You don’t know me at all. And you never will.   
Ramsay was too pissed off to pay any attention to what Margaery made him watch or where she took him. They went to the gallery first and Ramsay hardly spared a glance for any of them. Margaery pointed out Effie’s to him which he stared at for a time, but that only angered him more. It was dark and dreary, filled with faceless figures that haunted his memories for a time after. “I think it has a meaning to it. You know, a hidden one, but you can never be sure with art.” She laughed, tilting her head and looking at the picture. “What does it mean to you?” Margaery asked him.  
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t mean anything to me.”  
After the gallery, they went outside and watched some of the sporting events. Margaery was supposed to have taken part in a running race and dance demonstration, but she made her excuses to the teachers when she saw them. Ramsay would have gladly told her to go and do her fucking demonstrations, but he was aware of Mrs Dustin who just seemed to appear wherever they went. The stupid old crone.  
“Effie was going to participate in the running race.” Margaery told him as they walked down to the stables to watch the clear round jumping. “She’s a great runner, the best at endurance.”  
“I bet she is.”  
“She seems to like sports, but she’s never been horse-riding. You said last time that she loved horses.” Margaery reminded him.  
“Did I?” He replied flatly. The girl was like an annoying bug that just wouldn’t quit buzzing around his head. “Yeah. Perhaps she doesn’t, and you didn’t know. Perhaps you don’t know her all that well.”  
Ramsay stopped in his tracks and stared at her angrily. “I beg your pardon?” He growled. Margaery shrugged. “None of my brothers noticed when I began starving myself. I’ve been here long enough to know how fucked up some people are, and how long it’s taken them to get there.”  
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” Ramsay snarled.  
“Nothing.” Margaery continued to smile. He wanted nothing more than to knock her teeth out so that she’d never smile again. Instead, he turned around and walked away from her, back towards the main track. “Where are you going?” She called.  
“I need a fucking piss.” He yelled back, picking up the pace with the hope of losing her if she tried to follow him.   
If she had tried to follow him, his trick had worked. Ramsay made it to the dormitories unscathed and unseen. After getting lost the first few times, he finally found his way to Effie’s room. “I do know her.” He muttered to himself angrily. Once inside her room though, he wasn’t so sure. There were a few photos on the board of her with some of the girls from college, and some revision posters. More books lined the bookshelves then there had been when he dropped her off; murder mysteries and historical fiction mainly. It wasn’t how he remembered her. She had been grungy. She liked rock bands and stuff. Sure, she’d been good at school, but she’d liked other stuff too.  
Like what?  
Ramsay balled his hands into fists when he struggled to answer that question.  
He did know her. He did.  
Standing up, he went over to the bookshelf and soon found his eyes drawn to a black, leather covered notebook. Frowning, he opened it and recognised the hand as his own sister’s. Sitting down on the bed, he turned to the first page and started to read; struggling to make sense of the scrawled letters but carrying on through it; driven by curiosity.  
“You shouldn’t be reading that.” He looked up at the sound of Effie’s voice. She looked neither angry, nor upset. “What the fuck is this?” He hissed, waving the book at her.  
“A story. A terrible tale. Have you reached the bit where her brother fondles her in her bed yet? Or the one when she’s shoved in a room and has to rely on two whores to explain what’s happening?” Effie tilted her head, smiling her Effie smile.  
“Seriously, what the fuck?” And then she just stared at him. “What is this about? You trying to pin this all on me? Trying to blame me for what you did? For what went on in your head?”  
“You should have noticed. Stuff was happening. Every kind of fucking stuff and…you just left. I really needed you and you weren’t there.” She replied bitterly.  
“What? So what did you want me to do? After all that time. After all I did and what dad did and what he’s done for you. What should I have done?” He growled, snapping the book shut and tossing it onto the desk.  
“Care.” She muttered.  
“About what?”  
“About me!” Effie yelled at him “About me you wanker!”  
Stunned by her outburst, Ramsay sat in silence and stared at her for a time. Then he stood up and moved towards her, tilting forward slightly so that he loomed over her. “And is it the same now? Do you want me to care now?” His eyes pierced through hers until he seemed to meet a wall; a wall of solid, cold ice that wouldn’t allow him to see into her thoughts.  
“Now, I think why bother? Why bother caring about people? They fuck you up. So now I don’t give a shit whether you care or not.” She said flatly, shrugging. Ramsay stepped even closer, forcing a smile to creep across his face. “Fine then. I’m done caring. You’ve pissed me off today. You’ve really pushed your luck, and I’m going to make sure you fucking pay for that. You don’t care? We’ll see about that.” His hand struck out, quick as a viper, and entwined itself around her neck. “See you when you’re out of the looney bin Eff.” He smirked cruelly and shoved her away.  
“It’s Effie.” She spat at him.  
There was no hidden regret in their eyes. No hurt. No guilt. Just contempt and anger. It had eaten away at everything else; chewed away at the fear and love, and cutting through the blood ties. They were both floating now. Floating away from one another, and neither had any wish for that to change.  
She was sat on a bench overlooking the happy place; right on the edge of it. Effie didn’t quite belong there yet.  
There were less guests around now. The sun had begun to set, and the air had turned colder, reminding them all of the onset of winter. That hadn’t stopped some of the guests from coming to the green now to relish their last half hour with the students.  
Effie watched them all in their natural habitat, feeling nothing as she studied each relationship. She looked up at the sky and took a deep breath. The love was almost tangible, but it was a foreign taste to her.  
“Hi Effie.” Turning, Effie was surprised to see Myrcella staring back at her, entwining her fingers together anxiously. Effie gave her a small smile and inched over, turning back to look at the people. “I can’t stay for long. Mum’s just speaking with Mrs Dustin about Sansa. I just…I wanted to see how you were.” Effie remained silent and continued to observe. “I asked Sansa about you. She says you don’t really speak anymore.” Again, her only answer was silence. “Why don’t you speak Effie? Doesn’t anybody ask you why? Doesn’t anybody care?” A frown ghosted across her face. I don’t think anyone does anymore.  
“Is what my brother said true? That Mr Bolton…what he makes you do, you know, with men…for men?” Effie looked down at her hands. “I was your best friend Eff. You could have told me.” And still she did not look at her. For a moment, they were like the people she was observing. There was a connection that Effie wanted to deny, because to avoid getting your heart broken you had to at least pretend you didn’t have one. She wasn’t sure if Myrcella was able to break her heart, but she had learnt that, unlike what is said in stories and songs, it isn’t always just the one person. It’s the people you care about in general; the ones you love and the ones you have to love.  
And Effie couldn’t go through that again.  
“I’ve got to go. Mum will be wanting to leave as soon as possible.” Myrcella stood up. “See you around Effie.” She muttered sadly, walking away defeated with her head hung low. Effie continued to sit and observe the relationships before her; the ones she hoped she’d never have.  
“Argh for fuck sake.” Margaery groaned, rolling over so she didn’t have to look at her laptop anymore.  
“What is it?” Sansa asked, flinching as Margaery’s knee dug into a sensitive spot on her thigh and flinching again when her other knee brushed between her legs, making Sansa blush. She chewed down on her lip until she spotted Effie watching her intently, making her blush even more and fret over what she’d thought she’d seen.  
“My brother is posting all these pictures of his club opening night in town on facebook. It’s been years since I last went clubbing.” Her friend mumbled miserably.  
“I’ve never been clubbing.” Sansa shrugged. Margaery turned and looked at her, wide eyed. Then she released another groan of despair. “I really want to go. It looks so cool.”   
“Then why don’t we?” They both looked over at Effie, wondering if they were hearing things.  
“What?” Sansa asked, mouth gaping open.  
“Why don’t we go?” Effie raised an eyebrow.  
“We won’t be able to get out.” Sansa insisted, rolling her eyes. Effie smiled a secretive, mischievous smile. “You can get anything if you want it enough.”


	30. Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired of this human duet  
> No civilizing hides  
> Our animal impulses

There was something about clubs. They weren’t just rooms filled with music and drunk people, they got under your skin; infected you with their rhythm and filth until your blood was full of it. That’s how you got pumped for these things. The club sent you into a fever, and the only release was to drink and dance and take drugs. And snag a shag, which was Theon’s main aim for tonight. Annoying thing was he wasn’t snagging the shag for himself.  
“There’s so many.” He just about heard Wex over the music. “How do I…how do we…”  
“Don’t sweat it Wex, first things first you got to sort out the wheat from the chavs.” Theon grinned at his companion’s look of wonder. Hooking an arm around the younger man’s shoulder, he guided him to a quieter corner of the club. “Look, you want someone who looks clean, but is drunk enough to mistake you for someone who is actually shag-able.” The insult seemed to fly right over Wex’s head.  
“I…I’m not sure if…I can…can do this Theon.” He wheezed. “I just…don’t know…how? And…can’t…I’m sweating already. Perhaps…we should just…go home?”  
“Wex, you can’t be my wingman if you reach twenty and are still a virgin.” Theon stated, unhooking his arm from Wex’s shoulders. Wex’s eyes widened with fear because he didn’t want to lose the one thing that actually made him noticeable.  
“Okay…okay, I’ll do this. Okay.” He muttered, psyching himself up.  
“Right, so we’re going to go back in there, and you are going to point out a girl you like. I’ll be right with you to talk you through it.” Placing a hand on the boy’s back, Theon half guided, half shoved him back into the crowd. It was only half eleven, but the opening night was always going to be the busiest. Not that Theon was complaining. The more people there were, the more money he’d make and the more girls there were to fuck. Everyone would be out tonight, including the rich kids that he could charge extra because they wouldn’t know any better. Loras Tyrell’s clubs were known all over England, and Theon had wanted to push dope in them for ages. The posh fuckers always thought they were better than that, but here, intoxicated by the club and alcohol, their defences were weakened.  
“What about them?” Wex yelled, pointing at three girls who were stood opposite them across the dance floor, watching with unadulterated fascination. Theon inspected each of them. They were under twenty one, but with so much make up on it was hard to tell. His eyes were drawn to the one on the end. Unlike the other two, she was dressed all in black, with brown hair, a secretive smile and the brightest blue eyes.  
“Holy shit.” Theon breathed as he suddenly recognised her. “Fucking hell.” He cursed again.  
“What? Are they bad?” Wex squeaked. Theon grinned at him. “No Wex, they’re perfect. Good work.” Wex beamed as he was dealt a patronising pat on the back.  
“So what now?”  
“We wait until the horses come to water, and then we get them drunk.” Theon laughed, swaggering over to the bar and glancing at the girls every now and then to check on their whereabouts.  
“I don’t want to…you know…take advantage of them if they’ve got an attention deficit…”  
“You want to get laid or not?” Theon snapped light-heartedly.  
“I consider that an incredibly unfair question to ask of a going-on-twenty virgin.” Theon just chuckled and ordered them both a jagerbomb.  
“Drink that. Shut your trap. And do as I tell you.” He instructed, laughing as Wex downed it, grimacing and spluttering as it went down the wrong way.

“It’s so loud!” Sansa mouthed at her. Effie smiled, tilted her head back and closed her eyes, allowing the club to infect her. She’d never been to a proper club before, just posh-people parties. But here she could smell countless possibilities. The possibility for fun and chaos. To make mistakes and lose their heads.  
“I wonder where Loras is.” Margaery mused, standing on tiptoes and trying to spot her brother amongst the crowd.  
“We’ve got all night to find him. Come on, I need a drink.” Effie said, leading the way towards the bar. There was a time once when she’d gotten a total buzz off of alcohol. That amongst other things. “We haven’t got that much money.” Sansa warned, having to yell over the ‘Hometown Glory’ remix.  
“Then we’ll just have to find some guys to buy drinks for us.” Effie yelled back, laughing wildly. Pushing her way through the crowd until she was stood beside the bar, Effie called out for three vodka and cokes.  
“I was expecting something a little more original.” The voice was practically in her ear and she jolted away from it. Turning, Effie frowned as Theon Greyjoy grinned down at her; smiling that charming smile that had fooled her once before. “Here we go, it’s Effie fucking Snow.” Theon added, echoing the phrase he used to say whenever he had seen her in her old life.  
“Didn’t expect to see you here Greyjoy.” Effie replied curtly. Theon moved closer until they were pushed together; the crowd flooding in around them until Effie was sure she’d drown. “Speak for yourself. You even old enough to be in here?”   
“Put some make up on and you can fool any man into giving you what you want.” Effie smirked.   
“I’m offended. Are you generalising me and my kind?” Theon mock gasped, placing a hand over his heart as though he were wounded.  
“Come on Theon, you’re the worst. You were the biggest man-whore on the estate.” She laughed cruelly, having to lean forward and shout the words into his ear in order for him to hear. To her surprise, he leaned in a little as she pulled away.   
_Could I?  
_ “Man-whore? Where the fuck did you hear that?” He asked incredulously, apparently not insulted at all.  
“My brother, I guess.” Effie shrugged. A cloud fell across Theon’s face. “Yeah well your brother is a tosser.” He spat.  
“Agreed.” She said, leaning into his ear again and allowing her lips to brush his cheek. When she pulled away, Theon was grinning that lopsided grin again. “I need a drink.” He announced.  
“You going to get me one?” She asked with a cheeky smile.  
“You’ve already got one!” He laughed. Bringing the glass to her lips, Effie chugged it down and slammed it back onto the bar. “Now, you going to buy me one or not?”  
“What happened to that innocent little thirteen year old I used to give lifts to school?” Effie swallowed down the bitter taste of hatred, willing it not to spoil her sweet smile.  
“She’s dead and buried six feet under. I’m not so innocent anymore.” Her smile was sultry now, filled with promise.  
“So I heard. Saw you in the news and stuff. What happened there?”  
“You going to buy me that drink or what?” Effie raised an eyebrow to show her irritation. Theon just continued to grin at her and turned towards the bar to order her drink. _This is just too easy_ Effie smirked to herself, turning away from him to hide her amusement. Sansa and Margaery were stood talking behind her.  
“That was fucking quick.” Margaery said, nodding towards Theon. Effie grinned. “Do you know him?” Sansa asked.  
“Well enough.” She shrugged.  
“Looks like she’s about to get to know him better.” Margaery waggled her eyebrows suggestively whilst Effie just smiled her secretive smile that made Sansa blush. Effie turned back to Theon when she felt his hand brush her waist. “Are these friends of yours?” He yelled in her ear. Effie nodded, taking the drink he offered her. “Do you think either of them would be interested in my mate Wex here?” He asked, hooking his arm around the shoulders of the boy next to him. The one called Wex smiled at her shyly, then averted his eyes. “He’s my wingman.” Theon added. Effie bit back a laugh and turned to Sansa and Margaery. “Keep the friend entertained would you?” She told them as quietly as possible, smirking wickedly. Margaery smiled too and stepped forward towards Wex, with Sansa following close behind. “You going to buy us girls a drink or what?” She asked sweetly, checking Wex out and exchanging a secret look with Effie when they saw him blush in the club lights. Theon looked somewhat surprised when Margaery took his hand and led him away into the crowd, Sansa following closely behind. “She thirsty or something?” Theon laughed, watching them go.  
“So what did you get me?” Effie held up her drink.  
“Jagerbomb. You had one before?”  
“Nope.” She said, before downing it and making Theon laugh again. He followed suit, grimacing a little at the taste. “So, what should we do now?” He asked, placing the cup back on the bar.  
“Dance?” Effie suggested.  
“I don’t dance.” Theon insisted.  
“Not even for me?” She pouted before smiling wickedly. Groaning in frustration, Theon looked torn. “Fine, but you got to give me a little something first.” He grinned and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pill and holding it out for her to see. “You want a dance? You’ve got to come and take it.” Chuckling, Theon placed the pill on his tongue. For a moment, Effie hesitated. She needed the game to be on her terms, but this was just a means to an end.   
Rolling her eyes, Effie leaned forward and met his lips with hers, slipping her tongue inside and scooping out the pill, taking it into her own mouth. The taste of cigarettes dominated his mouth, but Effie didn’t mind. It reminded her of someone, she couldn’t quite recall who. She was pleased to note that Theon’s lips chased hers as she pulled away.  
“So we playing games now?” She smirked. Theon hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “Babe, you don’t even know the game.” He whispered in her ear. Effie hid her smirk. _You don’t even know what game I’m playing._

Theon, she discovered, pulled the funniest faces when he danced. It kind of made her think of the face a dog pulls when it takes a shit. Luckily she didn’t have to look at him for long, because he was soon turning her around so that he could grind up against her. Effie let him. Let him have his fun. Let him think he knew where this was heading. It had all just been so _easy_. In the crowd she spotted Margaery and Sansa still dancing with Theon’s friend, and they each exchanged secret smiles.  
He bought her a few more drinks until she began to feel the alcohol taking over, and the pill kicked in quickly, making all the lights a little brighter, all her movements a little freer, and all the dancing bodies a little more surreal.  
“We need to go outside.” She moaned as Theon began to kiss and suck the skin on her neck. “Theon…I need you outside.” Effie gasped again.  
“Hm…okay.” He groaned into her ear, continuing to suck. Effie rolled her eyes and pulled away. “I want you outside.” Her eyes were full of mischief, her lips curving with promise. Theon just grinned like a fool and Effie suspected he himself had slipped a pill or two. Clutching his hand tightly, Effie drew him out of the crowd, keeping her back to him so that he couldn’t see her wicked smile. They moved a lot quicker once the crowd had thinned a little, though Theon kept pulling her back just so he could shove his tongue in her mouth. “You taste good.” He hummed. “Why did we never do this before?”  
_Because you’re a massive fuck-boy and my brother would have crushed your skull in if he knew you had so much as touched me.  
_ “Your loss. Now come on, _outside_.” Her tone was pleading, her blue eyes wide and begging. She pushed herself up against him as a further indication of what he would get once he got outside. That seemed to make him move quicker. Effie led the way round to the back of the club, passing the crowd of people queuing up and others that were smoking. It was a large crowd outside the club. _Perfect._   
Theon grew more and more vocal as their kisses deepened; his moans vibrating down her throat. The taste of him was beginning to make her feel queasy, but she kept going, forcing herself to stay put as his hands slid down the back of her jeans and began to massage and squeeze her arse. “You’re really fucking hot.” He breathed in her ear.  
“I know.” Effie chuckled. Theon kissed her again, taking up all her air. One of his hands abandoned her arse and slid up her top to paw at her breast. Thrusting her hips forward, Effie ground her pelvis against his, earning her a long, drawn out moan. “Touch me.” Theon groaned.  
“I am.” She replied, sliding her hands over his chest.  
“No…my cock…touch my cock.” He panted, rubbing back against her. She pushed him back until he was against the wall. “You know you want to.” He grinned.  
“Oh do I?” Effie laughed between kisses. “I could get any man here.” In that moment, she felt as though she could.  
“Yeah but you only _want_ me.” He argued, slipping a hand beneath her bra and fingering a nipple. “Come on, touch my dick. You’ll like it.” His voice had grown husky, filled with lust.  
“Beg me.” Effie ordered.  
“What?”  
“Beg me to touch your cock.” To drown out any of his doubts, Effie pushed her hips against his again, thrusting so hard she could feel the hardness in his pants.  
“Please…I…I beg you, Effie…ah…please touch my cock.” He begged, both hands now settling on her hips and forcing her into a rhythm. “Hm…beg…OW! Fuck!” Theon cried out as Effie’s knee dug into his groin. His hands fell away and she kneed him again, right in the crotch, hard enough for him to double over in pain, gasping for air.  
“What…the…fuck?” He gasped.   
“Looks like you don’t know how to play the game after all.” Her voice was flat, lifeless. But her entire being had never felt more alive. “You honestly think I’d go anywhere near your twatty little dick?” Effie kicked him again, hard enough that Theon began to cough. Sadly, it was too dark to tell whether or not he had coughed up blood. Effie shoved him, making him fall to the ground, still clutching his balls. “Argh…shit…what the fuck?” Theon squeaked out.  
“You made my last year at that school a living hell, you know that? You think you were so great, so fucking genius to get your own back through _me_? The thirteen year old sister? Effie the slut. Effie the slag. That sound familiar to you does it?” Theon rolled over and tried to get up. Effie placed a foot over his throat, pinning him down. “You took advantage of me. But tonight was good fun. A good laugh. So thank you, Theon Greyjoy, for being _so_ easy.” Effie sneered down at him. In the darkness, she glimpsed a small white thing on the ground. After further inspection, she discovered it was a pouch of white powder. Opening it up, Effie recognised the texture and shoved the bag of MDMA into her pocket for later use. “Cheers wanker.” She spat, grinning. Standing up, Effie left him on the ground, still clutching his balls. “Fucking prick tease!” She heard him yell after her.  
“You fucking bet I am.” Effie chuckled to herself, swinging her hips merrily as she thought of all the people he’d have to walk past, hopefully while he was still clutching his balls and wheezing in pain.


	31. Damage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leave all your love and your longing behind  
> You can't carry it with you if you want to survive

Sansa downed the last of her drink and placed the cup down somewhere. She couldn’t remember who exactly had bought her the drink; she’d lost them in the crowd a while ago.  
“Alright girl, fancy a dance?” Some guy asked her.  
“Fuck off.” Was the only reply she could think of. The guy cursed her but moved on. There were plenty more fish in the club. Sansa continued to watch as Margaery danced with that boy Effie’s friend (companion…lover…whatever he’d been) had introduced them to. Sansa hated the way he pressed up against her, but she hated the fact Margaery seemed to be enjoying it more. Pushing her way through the pulsing mass of bodies, Sansa was all but ready to punch him. Sansa had felt worse rage than this, but she had never dreamed of acting on it. It was the alcohol, she presumed.  
Before she could land any blows however, Effie just seemed to appear, pulling Margaery and Wex apart. “You might want to go see how your bum-chum Theon is. With the position he’s in, anyone could come along and shove something unforgiving up his arse.” Effie yelled over the music, making Wex’s eyes grow wide with fear. He took one last longing look at Margaery before disappearing into the crowd.  
“What did you do?” Margaery asked her, apparently not at all upset that her dancing partner was gone. Effie smiled that Effie smile that always seemed to make Sansa blush. “Something I should have done a long time ago.” Sansa wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but both she and Margaery laughed it off and the three of them began to dance together. “Anyone want a drink?” Margaery shouted. Effie nodded, but Sansa was hesitant about letting Margaery go on her own, but she didn’t want to seem clingy. She watched her go; keeping her eyes on the spot she disappeared into.  
“You love her don’t you?” Effie’s voice was in her ear and Sansa jolted away as if she had struck her.  
“What? No, I…I’m not…” Sansa stammered, unsure what to say.  
“Gay?”  
“No…well…I don’t know…” She admitted, hanging her head shamefully.  
“But you love her.” Effie insisted. Sansa could think of nothing to say. There was no point in denying it when Effie already knew it to be true. “Go and tell her.”  
“What? No, I couldn’t…”  
“Telling someone you love them is hard. Not knowing how they feel is even harder.” And with that, Effie shoved her into the crowd, in the direction Margaery had gone. The strobe lighting illuminated Effie momentarily, and she appeared solemn and pained. Amongst the pulsing crowd, she was still, as though she wasn’t really there at all. Then she became just another face in the crowd. Sansa turned away and pushed her way to the bar, where she found Margaery talking to yet another man. “Margaery!” Sansa called out to her, gripping her arm.  
“Hey Sansa!” Margaery yelled back, shoving a drink into her hand. She had no idea what it was, but Sansa downed it anyways. “Margaery, I want to tell you something.”  
“This is Renly, my brother’s boyfriend!” Margaery shouted over the music, apparently oblivious to Sansa’s pleading gaze. “Renly, this is Sansa, my bestest friend in the whole wide world!” Margaery gushed drunkenly. Sansa blushed as she felt Margaery’s hand slide around her waist.  
“Nice to meet you Sansa.” Renly smiled a handsome, accommodating smile.  
“Likewise.” Sansa had the courtesy to smile back despite the nerves that twisted sickeningly in her stomach. “Margaery, please, I really need to tell you something.” She begged, her courage rapidly slipping away to embarrassed frustration.  
“Come on Renner’s, what have you done with my brother?” Margaery asked him. Sansa’s frustration hit breaking point when it occurred to her that Margaery was perhaps ignoring her on purpose. “For fuck sake!” Sansa shrieked. Catching Margaery’s face in both hands, Sansa crushed her lips against Margaery’s. They stayed like that for a time, lips pressed together, neither one of them trying to take it any further. Sansa couldn’t tell how Margaery felt about it, and in the moment it perhaps felt worse than not having done it at all.  
When she pulled away, blushing madly and on the brink of tears, she was breathless and her lips tingled. “I fucking love you, okay?” She shouted as Margaery continued to gape at her. Sansa saw no sense in not going through with the whole thing now that she had started it. “There…I said it…Now you know.” Sansa cast her eyes downwards as the silence between them stretched on and on. After a time, she grew desperate. “Margaery, say something. Please. I-“ She was cut off when Margaery’s lips stilled hers. Her mouth tasted sweet, though perhaps that was just down to what she had been drinking. Either way, Sansa liked it and hummed her approval. As they pulled away, Margaery was smiling, but Sansa thought she glimpsed tears on her cheeks.  
“So…” They had both forgotten about Renly. “Do you both want to come up to the VIP area? It’s where Loras is, plus it’s quieter. You two can…chat.” He smirked with amusement, making the colour rise to Sansa’s cheeks. She felt nervous again now, and talking about their feelings felt almost impossible. Perhaps it was just the drink that had made Margaery kiss her. Was she crying because their friendship would now have to end, and it was all Sansa’s fault? Or worse, had Margaery just decided to experiment with her? Did their friendship mean that little?  
Sansa almost cried with relief when she felt Margaery’s hand slip into her own. “We’d love to, but we’d better find our friend first.” Margaery smiled brightly, subtly drying her cheeks.  
“Okay, I’ll see you girls up there.” Renly smiled, winked at Sansa, and disappeared into the crowd.  
“Wouldn’t think he was gay would you?” Margaery laughed in her ear.  
“Same goes for us, I suppose.” Sansa replied, half fearing her words were too brazen. Margaery didn’t appear at all abashed by it; planting another short, sweet kiss on Sansa’s trembling lips. “Come on, let’s go find Effie.” Margaery was still holding Sansa’s hand as she pulled her through the mob of dancers.  
Effie, as it turned out, was not hard to find at all. She was on one of the podiums, dancing like the world wasn’t watching. She danced as the crowd cheered her on and danced with her; her eyes closed, her head tilted upwards, and a smile playing upon her lips.

“Over a thousand pounds worth of damage.”  
“Shit.”  
“One broken window.”  
“Fuck.”  
“And charged for having the fire service called out after you purposefully set off the smoke alarm.”  
“Actually, I didn’t plan on setting that off. That must have been someone else.” Effie protested, smirking.  
“You set off a flare in the middle of a pub.” Mrs Dustin reminded her through gritted teeth.  
“Okay, so maybe it was me. But I put it out.” She insisted.  
“Yes, by covering the entire interior with foam from a fire extinguisher.”  
“I’ll wait for my thank you letter shall I?” Effie tilted her head and smiled sweetly. Sighing with frustration, Mrs Dustin turned to the other two.   
“And then you all escaped the police by jumping off the roof?” They all avoided her gaze and attempted to hide their smiles. “I never would have expected this of you two. What on Earth were you thinking?” She snapped. “I hear Sansa was so intoxicated she never even made it back to her own bed.” Sansa blushed and exchanged secret looks with Margaery. “All three of you are suspended from enrichment for the next two weeks. You will instead attend detention. Your families will all be contacted with details of the damage you have caused and how much it will cost to have it fixed, is that understood?”  
“My family is dead.” Sansa stated coldly. Mrs Dustin’s look was unyielding, almost cruel. “I’m well aware.” Effie watched the exchange with fascination. “Now the two of you may go, I wish to speak with Miss Snow in private.” Slumping down in her chair, Effie kept her eyes on Mrs Dustin as her two friends left the room. “Care to explain to me what exactly was going through your mind when you came up with this lucrative scheme?”  
“We went for a night on the town, not to rob the bank of England.” Effie replied carelessly.  
“Any more attitude from you and I will extend it to a month’s detention.” Barbrey hissed. Effie pursed her lips. “We just wanted to have some fun. It had been a tough day.”  
“That I understand, but the extent of your misbehaviour is unacceptable. What do you think Mr Bolton will have to say when he hears of this? By your behaviour and the fact you can talk again, I’d say it was fair to assume you are on the mend, wouldn’t you?” Barbrey’s lips twitched upwards, betraying her amusement. Effie stared at her coldly. “You can’t send me home. You don’t know what he’ll do.” She said flatly.  
“Don’t I?” From a drawer beneath her desk, Mrs Dustin pulled out a black book. “Let’s see…drugged and raped by your brother when you were twelve, forced into prostitution by your brother, sterilised, forced into prostitution by Mr Bolton…” She looked up at her. “Have I missed anything?” Effie’s mouth gaped open a little.  
“You know?” Her voice was barely a whisper.  
“Roose Bolton and I have been friends for a very long time Miss Snow, of course I know.” She replied curtly.  
“You know, and you haven’t told anyone?” She felt sick and her eyes narrowed accusingly.  
“No, why should I?”  
“It’s your job to protect these girls. To make our lives better.” Effie hissed through gritted teeth.  
“No, it’s my job to make them better. What happens when they leave is none of my business.” It was in that moment that Effie saw the woman for who she truly was. She didn’t care. She was just another Roose; using these girls to cover herself up, and milking people of their money.  
“Bullshit. This whole time it’s been bullshit. You’ve been lying to all of us. You don’t care what happens to us. You don’t even care about us at all. You probably love reading about all the sick cases you’ve seen. I bet you take that black book to bed with you at night, read some nice little story about a girl that’s been abused. Hell, you probably wank over it.” Effie spat venomously.  
“That was highly inappropriate, Miss Snow. You have become over-stimulated. I suggest extra therapy would serve you-“  
“Fuck your therapy.” Effie muttered, standing up and storming to the door.  
“Come back here, Miss Snow, I’m not done with you yet.”  
“Unfortunately for you, Mrs Dustin, I’m not done with you either.” She threw over her shoulder, not waiting for a reply before slamming the door behind her.  
The tears never came. Not even when she was back at the dormitories. She was too angry to cry. Too tired of crying over the things _they’d_ done. They’d made her go mad. Effie wasn’t entirely sure who was in the ‘they’ category yet, but it was Roose and Mrs Dustin for sure. _And Ramsay_ a tiny voice inside her whispered. Her intestines seemed to twist and writhe inside her; knotting themselves together. That almost did bring the tears forth. For years she’d seen him as her protector. Her big brother that had made all the right decisions to keep her safe. Had he been keeping her safe when he shot her with an arrow? No. He’d wanted to see Jeyne. He’d done it for himself, just like he had accepted his father’s proposal years ago. Ramsay was self-centred and greedy, that she knew now.  
But was he as monstrous as Roose?  
Effie’s head was pounding, though whether from the dawning realisation or the hangover, she couldn’t say.  
“Effie?” Someone called out. Turning, Effie spotted Obara, Tyene, and Nym coming towards her. Unusually Nym was at the front, a mischievous smile on her face.  
“What?”  
“We wanted to know if you could do us a favour.” Nym asked, bouncing to her side.   
“We heard that you snuck out last night, and that you went out partying in town.” Tyene’s voice was hushed and secretive.   
“Yeah, so?” Effie shrugged.  
“We want you to get us out too.” Nym grinned.


	32. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what makes us girls  
> We all look for heaven and we put our love first  
> Somethin' that we'd die for, it's our curse

“Shit…right…I’ll knock from now on.” Despite their position, Effie remained where she was as Margaery pulled out and hurriedly yanked Sansa’s skirt down. “Oh come on, if there’s something I’ve never seen before I’ll throw a pound at it.” Effie joked, wandering into the room uninvited.   
“You seem awfully cheerful this morning.” Margaery laughed.  
“Why wouldn’t I be? We had a great night.” Effie smiled, running her hand along Sansa’s bookshelves.  
“A brilliant night.” Glancing over her shoulder, she watched as Margaery nuzzled Sansa’s neck affectionately. “Sansa’s feeling a bit worse for wear though.”  
“I’m fine!” Sansa insisted, though her pallor told them both otherwise. “Anyway, what did Dustin want with you?”  
“Same old bullshit. Where did you get this?” Effie asked, turning to show them the broach she had found stuffed between two books. It was silver, in the shape of a mockingbird perching on a branch.  
“A friend gave it to me.” Sansa replied, giggling as Margaery whispered something in her ear. Effie placed the broach back on the shelf. “You should wear it. It’s pretty.” She said, but Sansa was no longer listening, and would have been unable to reply anyway with her tongue shoved so far down Margaery’s throat. “Okay…um…no one likes to be a third-wheeler, so I’m just gonna…” Grinning, Effie backed out of the room.

“Can I ask you a question?” Varys was shocked out of his thoughts by the sound of Effie’s voice. She hadn’t stopped writing in her book, despite having spoken.  
“Of course.” He forced a smile and subtly opened his book to take notes.  
“Are you gay?” That. That was the question. Effie didn’t even stop writing to see his reaction. “No. No, I’m not gay.” Varys replied through gritted teeth.  
“So you’re straight?”  
“We aren’t here to discuss my sexuality Effie.” He retorted bluntly.  
“Bi?” Varys sighed, exasperated, but began to wonder why she had begun speaking to him all of a sudden. Perhaps she wished to know more about him? Some of his patients did that. It was understandable considering most of them had spilled all their darkest secrets to him. If this was the case, he should oblige her a little. He’d gotten little else out of her so far.  
“I am neither.” He informed calmly. That made her look up. “You’re asexual?”  
“Yes, I suppose so.”  
“Interesting.” Effie muttered, nodding thoughtfully. After a moment she carried on writing. “Do you think about sex a lot?” He asked. Effie shrugged, not looking up. “Are you a virgin?” Effie smiled her wry smile. “Do you want to talk about that? When you lost your virginity?” Varys settled his notebook on his lap and drew out a pen from his sleeve. Effie snapped her book shut. “I was twelve.” She began.  
“Right. What else?” He probed, scribbling her words down.  
“Then…nothing.” Varys glanced up at her, frowning.  
“I remember nothing.” Effie’s tone was flat, as if she didn’t care. But her eyes were sad and confused; her eyebrows knitted together as if she were lost in her memories.  
“And why do you think that is?” Effie just shrugged. “Sometimes, when we’ve gone through something terrible beyond words, our brain blocks it from memory. Is it possible that that is what has happened to you Effie?”  
She paused for a moment, brows furrowed. “Yes. Perhaps it is.”  
“Okay. I take it you’ve had sexual intercourse since then.” Effie smiled that smile again. “I here you’ve been sneaking out at night with some of the other girls. Do you meet guys?” Varys ventured casually.  
“Sometimes.”  
“Right. Do you have sex with them?” He scribbled it all down; writing so fast that his hand had begun to ache.  
“I make them think that I will.” Effie’s smile turned wicked.  
“What do you mean by that?”  
“I mean I pretend I’m going to fuck them, and then I don’t.” She replied sharply.  
“So what do you do instead?”  
“I disappear.” She shrugged.  
“Why do you do that do you think? Is it to establish a sense of control? Do you feel the need to dominate men?”  
“So many questions. Don’t know. Maybe. Perhaps.” She sighed. “Is it my turn to be question master yet?”  
“May I have one more go?” It was a game. All along, she had been playing a childish game. He was amusing her for a time, that was all. It infuriated him, but he had to admit that it also intrigued him.  
“Fine.” Effie huffed petulantly.  
“When was the last time you had sex?” A cloud seemed to fall across her face. Once again, she disappeared into her thoughts; her eyes came out of focus and her smirk faltered. “Did you love him?” Effie looked at him then, though still half-submerged in confusion.  
“You had one question. It’s my turn again.” She announced sharply.  
“Very well, what else do you wish to ask me?” Varys sighed, snapping his book shut.  
“When I came in, you were worried about something. Not about me. Nobody worries about me. You were staring out of the window, as though you were far away, which suggests your trouble lies outside of work. By the state of your office (neat, bland) you aren’t close to family, if you even have one at all. So what has happened to a friend that has you so worried?”  
Varys hid his surprise considerably well. “Intuitive. Interesting. Forgive me, Effie, I mistook you for someone…simpler.” Effie just smiled as though that had amused her.  
Worryingly, her assumption was correct. Over the past few weeks, Dany had been feeding him all the information she gained concerning Effie’s school work, home life, and history. Just little meaningless things so far. But this week Varys had received nothing. Not a word. He had tried calling relentlessly, but he could never get through. Varys had begun to consider going to the police, but it would put both their careers in jeopardy if they were found to be delving into the private life of a patient without their consent or knowledge. As far as Varys knew, Dany lived alone, and he had begun to assume the worst; that her past had caught up with her.  
“We’re done for the day.” Effie announced, seconds before the timer sounded. “See you next week.” Before Varys could stutter out a goodbye, she was gone.

As part of their therapy and rehabilitation, selected students at Barrowton House were expected to attend monthly trips to the local nursing home to volunteer for the day. Margaery, despite common assumptions, didn’t mind these visits too much as it gave her an opportunity to visit her grandmother. This month however, she wasn’t as keen as normal. Sansa wanted her to tell Olenna about them being in a relationship. She still remembered what it had been like when Loras told the family he was gay. He’d made the mistake of announcing it at a family barbecue after those old enough to understand what he meant had had a bit too much to drink. Out of all the family, their grandmother had been the most vocal about it, relentlessly jesting about pillow-biting and such, whilst the rest of the family had fallen into an awkward silence. An awkward silence that had stretched on to this day. It wasn’t that the family had shunned Loras, it was just that their mother and father preferred to live in a state of denial.  
Margaery had already been disapproved and shut up in Barrowton House following her troubles with eating disorders. What would her family do with her if she told them she was dating Sansa? They’d probably never let her leave institutions. It wasn’t even as if she was _sure_ like Loras and Sansa were. What if it was just Sansa that she loved, and Sansa just happened to be a girl? For once, Margaery was unsure. She was usually so confident and cool, but when it came to Sansa, nothing seemed sure. Sometimes it was nice. She was spiralling out of control, but the person she loved was spiralling beside her. But other times, like today, it was downright terrifying.  
“Hello grandmother.” She said cheerfully, painfully aware of Sansa standing right behind her.   
“Oh thank the big man you’re here dear, I thought I was going to actually have to drink this lukewarm tea.” Olenna ranted.  
“You could always make it yourself grandmother, you still have the use of your legs.” Margaery laughed.  
“I could. Unlike most of the workers here, I’m British. I know what a cup of tea tastes like and, whatever _they_ make, it isn’t tea.” Beside her, Sansa was blushing.  
“Grandmother, keep your voice down.” Margaery hushed, checking to see if anyone heard her grandmother’s racist remarks.   
“Do you think I only reserve my thoughts for you dear? They’re all quite used to me now.” Olenna’s face creased as she smiled. “Hello again Sansa.”   
“Hello Olenna. Would you like me to go and get you a fresh cup of tea?” Sansa asked sweetly.  
“How kind of you! Yes, you’d better look like you’re doing something, before Hitler comes to escort you back to camp.”  
“Grandmother!” Margaery gasped, looking over her shoulder to make sure Mrs Dustin hadn’t been within hearing distance.  
“She does look particularly gestapo-ified today.” Olenna chuckled, making Margaery smile. To her horror, Mrs Dustin spotted them both looking at her and came over instantly. “Good morning Olenna.” Dustin said briskly.  
“Barbrey. Are you just passing?”  
“No. Why?” Margaery was certain she could hear the headmistress’ teeth grinding together.  
“I thought you might be on your way to a funeral. You do seem to be wearing an awful lot of black. You know it puts us old-folk on edge.” Margaery’s face turned red as she tried to hold back laughter.  
“Is something funny, Miss Tyrell?”   
“Yes. Me. Do go outside dear, you look awfully pale.” Olenna waved a dismissive hand.  
“Margaery is supposed to be volunteering, not having a chit chat.” Barbrey snapped.  
“Believe me, having to listen to me is hard enough when you’re getting paid for it. I say my poor Margaery perhaps has the hardest job here. Now do you mind? I wish to speak with my granddaughter.” Olenna barked back, quickly growing tired of tormenting Mrs Dustin. Margaery and Olenna both watched as Mrs Dustin took a deep, supposedly calming breath. “You have fifteen minutes.” She declared before marching away.   
“Now come on. Out with it. What is it you wish to tell me?” Olenna turned to Margaery, leaning forward.  
“What? I don’t know what you mean.” Margaery mumbled, blushing madly.  
“Don’t play the ignorant with me young lady. If you weren’t so distracted you would have joined in the tormenting of your oh-so-beloved headmistress. So come on, speak up.” Margaery plucked nervously at the pleats in her skirt.  
“Well you see, grandmother, you know Sansa?”  
“Yes I know Sansa.” Olenna nodded sharply.  
“Right, well, the thing is…I love her, and she loves me, and now we’re dating…you know, like a couple.” Margaery babbled. Her grandmother stared at her for a while. A long while. Too long a while. Margaery was almost purple by the time her grandmother spoke again. “Well I’m not best pleased.” She sighed, slumping back in her armchair. Margaery looked down and carried on playing with her skirt, biting back her angry tears. “About how long it took you to work out that girl was in love with you!” Olenna smiled wickedly and Margaery laughed. “Goodness me. It’s about the same amount of time I’ve been waiting for her to bring me my tea. Where is your girlfriend?” It still felt weird every time someone called Sansa that. Looking around, Margaery spotted Sansa weaving her way through the forest of old people with Effie on her tail. “Sorry! It seems everyone was dying of thirst at this place.” Sansa laughed, placing the tea on the table in front of Olenna.  
“With the service we’ve gotten recently, I’d say it shan’t be long until we do. Now, who is this?” Olenna fixed Effie with her most calculating gaze.  
“Grandmother, this is a friend of ours.”  
“You’re not about to tell me you’re in a threesome are you? Not that I’d blame you.” Olenna chuckled. Effie smiled too.  
“Grandmother!”  
“What? I was young once.” Her grandmother grumbled.  
“Anyway, this is our friend, Effie Snow.” Olenna fixed their friend with another searching gaze.   
“Effie Snow?” Effie remained silent, but smiled her sideways smile and nodded. “What a pleasure to meet you at last.”


	33. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what makes us girls  
> We don't stick together 'cause we put our love first  
> Don't cry about him,

“Pardon?”  
“I’ve heard all about you dear. You seem to be in every newspaper in this place. Even the decent ones. Now will the three of you please sit down? You’re making the place untidy.” Olenna snapped her fingers and the three girls sat in the worn armchairs around her. Being here reminded Effie of Mrs Hornwood, the old lady that had once been her neighbour. She had given her sweets and pocket money and told stories, and she was always glad to see her. It wasn’t just the smell that reminded Effie of the friend from her former life . Olenna’s stories were every bit as compelling as Mrs Hornwood’s had been. All three girls leaned forward in their seats, listening intently as Margaery’s grandmother prattled on with her tales of the good old days.  
“It’s time for the girls to do some actual work now.” Mrs Dustin cut in just as Olenna was about to tell them about an American soldier she had met at a dance during the war.  
“Do you mind? I was in the middle of a tale. Go see to that old crone over there. She looks close enough to death for you to start mourning, Mrs Addams.” Olenna snapped, exchanging sly smiles with the girls.  
“We agreed fifteen minutes. I have been generous and given you twenty. It’s time for the girls to do what they came here to do.” Barbrey sneered.  
“Oh for heaven’s sake, go on then. Margaery dear, I want my grave a metre and a half by two metres and a half, just so you know when Mrs Dustin here takes you outside to dig it.” Olenna commanded before turning to Effie. “It was a pleasure to meet you at last Miss Snow.” Olenna held out a withered, liver-spotted hand, which Effie took. Olenna pulled her in closer until they couldn’t be overheard. “Give them hell child. Set fire to the ship and dance on the burning deck if you must, just don’t let them drag you down with it. I said the same to Margaery and Sansa, now I’m warning you too.” Effie frowned as she pulled back, and longed to ask her why she gave two shits about her, but she dared not with Barbrey milling around them like a vulture.   
“Effie dear, do you mind putting the news on for us? We old folk have to regularly remind ourselves that the outside world still exists, and that there is actually something more interesting than the purgatory we are in here.” Olenna sighed and slumped back in her chair, giving Barbrey a scathing smile as the teacher moved away. Effie chuckled quietly and reached for the remote, just catching the final few beats of the introduction to BBC news. “Dear God, we almost missed it!” Olenna yelped in mock panic, smirking to herself when she startled an elderly man beside her out of sleep.  
Effie heard none of it, and was instead focused intently on what the news readers had to say.   
“A young woman who was mauled by a dog last night in Kingsland Park has died in hospital this morning of wounds inflicted during the attack. Daenerys Targaryen, a drama teacher at the local college, was out jogging late last night when the attack occurred. The police have requested witnesses of the incident to come forth but have so far received no word.”  
The rest of the report was drowned out by the sound of Effie’s pounding heart. Dany was dead. She seemed like a vague memory now, but Effie remembered that she had tried to be kind. She had tried to help as best she could, yet Effie had shrugged her off and spat on her kindness. The guilt swelled in her stomach and began to crawl up into her throat until she was struggling to breathe.  
“Eff? You okay?” Sansa’s voice sounded distant. The news now showed a picture of Dany; smiling warmly at the camera. It must have been taken on holiday a while ago.  
“That woman…she used to teach me drama.” Effie’s mouth felt as dry as sand paper and she was grateful when Sansa sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.  
“Oh Effie, I’m so sorry.” She murmured. Almost without realising it, Effie burrowed her face into Sansa’s shoulder. She didn’t cry, but it felt nice just to be close to someone. Effie could hardly remember the last time she’d enjoyed being embraced by someone.  
When Effie finally sat up straight, her back ached from leaning onto her friend. She had no recollection of how long they’d been there but she figured it must have been a while.  
“You okay now?” Sansa asked with a sad, kindly smile.  
“Yeah.” Effie nodded. “I just need to go out and get completely fucking smashed tonight.”

“I can’t believe I just did that.” Elinor still had a look of shock on her face. Effie wondered for a moment if she had looked like that throughout the entire thing. Smirking, she lit herself a cigarette. “Was he any good?” She asked flatly.  
“I don’t know. It just felt…weird, you know? I mean, he was _inside_ me.” She had gone an unhealthy shade of white. Effie took another pull of her fag and carried on walking down the road. “What did you do? You know, while we were…you know.”  
“Fucking?” Effie shrugged. “Just sat outside. You weren’t in there long.” She was growing used to waiting around for the other girls.  
Over the past few weeks, an epidemic had hit Barrowton house. An epidemic that looked suspiciously like ongoing hangovers. Some girls had been suffering from trips and comedowns. There had even been a number of cases of STD’s milling around. Not to mention the occasionally unpractised stomach that required pumping. The staff were at a loss what to do, and Jeyne was tearing her hair out; worrying about what state her patients would be in today. They all knew who the culprit was, but sadly the culprit was incredibly good at sneaking out unnoticed and uncaught, leaving them with no evidence with which to make a feasible accusation.  
“Eurgh, I feel like shit.” Elinor confessed. Keeping silent, Effie took another pull of her cigarette. “How far away are we from Barrowton?” Her companion groaned.  
“About an hour or so.”   
“Oh, fucking hell.” Effie rolled her eyes as the girl continued to complain. They could have been home and in bed ages ago had Elinor not wanted to go home with that Osney guy, and Effie had been the one freezing her arse off outside. Watching the smoke as she exhaled, Effie wondered if they could find anywhere that would serve decent breakfast at four o’clock in the morning. There was nowhere along this road for sure. Industrial estates lined the left side, and just over the hill on their right was a river leading into a harbour. “Are you okay Effie? You’re a bit quiet.” Elinor muttered. Shrugging, Effie remained silent. “You think I made a mistake don’t you? I know it was stupid. Argh, I’m such a slut!” Elinor growled at herself.  
“You aren’t a slut.” Effie argued half-heartedly. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”  
“Right. But you’ve never got with anyone on a night out, have you?”  
“It’s just not my style, I guess.” Before Elinor could ask any more questions, they could hear a car behind them, moving at break-neck speed. When it started slowing down as it drew near them, Effie began to feel unease settling in her stomach; a foreshadowing that something bad was about to happen.  
Before the car had even fully drawn to a halt, a woman leapt out of the passenger seat. She couldn’t have been much older and was shorter than Effie. Dressed like she had been out partying herself, her baby bump looked out of place as it was barely held in by her dress. “This her?” She snapped, mean eyes fixed on Effie.  
“The shorter one, yeah.” Called out a bigger girl who was struggling to climb out of the car. A boy followed suit, getting out of the driver’s seat. Effie recognised the fat one from the club earlier, but only due to her size. They hadn’t even spoken. “Can we help you?” She asked, driving the tremor out of her voice as best she could.  
“ _She_ can.” The pregnant girl spat at Elinor whose face was now the colour of curdled milk. “Grab that one will you?” She ordered, looking at Effie. Before either of them could register what was happening, the pregnant girl had hold of Elinor’s wrist and was dragging her down the road towards a corner that would hide them both from sight. Effie began to follow, only to be pulled back by the bigger girl. “You wait here.” She growled.  
“I just want to make sure she doesn’t hurt her.” Effie snapped back. Somehow she managed to carry on after them, dragging the fat one along behind her. “She’s got every right to.” She retorted, yanking hard.  
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”  
“It means that your friend fucked her baby’s daddy, so she can do whatever the fuck she wants to her.” Her captor snarled. Glancing over her shoulder, Effie’s heart began to race when she realised Elinor was gone from view, and her attacker with her. “Let me go.” She ordered, somehow still sounding calm.  
“No.” The other girl snapped childishly. That sparked her anger; the anger that she always seemed to have bottled up inside her these days. Turning, Effie dealt her a stare that she suspected her brother would have been proud of. “Don’t look at me like that.” Fatty barked. Effie carried on glaring until it ate away at her captor, who finally had the sense to let go; taking two steps back for good measure. Finally free of her ball and chain, Effie hurried off down the road after Elinor, only half aware that the driver and the fat girl were following her.  
“Do you think I’m happy about the state he’s put me in?” The pregnant girl was yelling at a very scared looking Elinor.  
“N-no…I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Elinor stammered.  
“Look, can we just talk about this like adults?” Effie butted in.  
“Like adults? You aren’t even adults yet.” The girl snapped. “I thought I told you to keep her back.” She yelled at the fat one.  
“Well she’s my friend and I’m going to make sure you don’t hurt her.” Inching closer to Elinor, Effie could feel herself begin to tremble as her fight or flight instinct began to kick in.  
“You’re going to want to back off before I smash your face in.” Elinor’s attacker snapped at her.  
“Yeah you can’t touch her, she’s pregnant.” That much was obvious.   
“And you really don’t want to fight me right? I’m fucking psycho. I’m actually bipolar.” The pregnant one piped up. Effie could have laughed at that. She knew better than anyone here what bipolar disorder looked like, and this wasn’t it.   
“Let me go!” Elinor barked fearfully, trying desperately to yank her wrist out of the girl’s grasp.  
“What? You think I’m just going to let you go? After you slept with my baby’s daddy?” The first punch hit Elinor on the side of the head, but the shock of it made her stagger back.   
“Don’t! Stop it!” Effie yelled at her as she dragged Elinor into the road by her hair and continued to punch her. The adrenaline surged through her and there was suddenly an awful second where she truly wanted to hit someone. She couldn’t run, so she wanted to fight instead. But who was there to hit? Elinor’s attacker was pregnant, and the morality was like a brick wall guarding her. She could see that even Elinor was struggling to fend for herself, also discouraged by her attacker’s condition.  
“Stop please! Just leave her alone!” Effie found herself crying out as Elinor’s head was yanked down and the girl began to knee her in the face. A sickening _thwack_ sounded as the pregnant girl’s knee met Elinor’s face and Elinor screamed. Effie surged forward, only to be yanked back by the fat one, whom she had almost forgotten about. After a time, the girl stopped kneeing Elinor in the face and allowed her to stand up straight.  
“Phone.” She barked, holding out her hand.  
“Please, I just want to go-“  
“Give me your phone.”  
“Please.” Elinor’s lip was split and bleeding; blood dribbling down her chin.  
“Phone.” Her attacker demanded again. Much to Effie’s relief, Elinor obliged. They both just wanted the nightmare to be over. “What’s the number?”  
“What?” Elinor gasped, trembling and close to tears. Effie tried to inch closer to her again, desperately wanting to get them both away from these people.  
“The number to unlock it, what is it?” The pregnant girl snapped, still keeping a tight grip on Elinor’s wrist.  
“I…um…I can’t remember.” Elinor sniffed and her voice shook as she held back sobs.  
“Do you want me to break your fucking nose?” The girl screeched.  
“Okay! Okay, it’s…um…1, 8…err…6 and 4?” The girl tapped in the number and smiled an ugly smile when it unlocked.  
“Put that in the car will you?” She yelled, tossing the phone to the driver.  
“No, please don’t!” Elinor yelled.  
“You shut the fuck up. Fucking pathetic bitch. Look at her hair! She looks like a fucking hobo.” She cackled. Effie growled quietly. “Okay, okay, I look like a hobo. Can you just go now please?” Elinor begged.  
“I’m not done with you yet.” The pregnant girl snarled.  
“Leave her alone!” Effie screamed, but before she could do anything she was knocked to the ground. The fat one pinned her down and she was forced to watch as the attack resumed. “Get off me!” Effie growled, desperately struggling against the fat girl’s weight on her. “Get off me you fat bitch!” She screamed.  
“What did you call me? You should mind your fucking mouth.” The fat girl sneered. A sob tore through Effie as she recalled her school years in her old life. _I get it from my father_ she used to say. She didn’t say it now though, because now she knew what her father was.  
“Oi! Tish, let’s go!” Effie looked up to see the pregnant girl relentlessly kicking Elinor in the face. Elinor was curled up in a tight, motionless ball.  
“Tish!”  
_Tish._  
The driver’s voice seemed to get through at last and the girl ceased kicking. Effie gulped down air as the weight was lifted and the fat one lumbered off after her friends. Elinor rolled over with a moan and Effie sighed with relief, listening to her heart steadying as the car sped away from them.


	34. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My school report said I showed no interest  
> A disruptive influence  
> I felt sorry for them in a way

Effie tried everything, but no amount of drinking, smoking, or drug taking could override the heavy feeling of guilt inside of her. Elinor insisted she was fine, and it seemed like a miracle to Effie that the girl had escaped with nothing more than a split lip, a black eye, and a slightly out of place nose. The thing Elinor seemed most concerned about was that she no longer had a phone. Her parents however had involved the police, which meant Effie had had to go and give a statement and once again fill with shame as she confessed she had done nothing to help Elinor. She’d just stood there, once again an observer to cruel, meaningless crimes. The only use she’d had was that she’d heard them say the girl’s name and so had made her easier for the police to find. Still, it had felt weird going into a police station guilty of nothing but being a bystander. Back on the estate where she and Ramsay had grown up, you were considered well behaved if you’d gone to prison just the once.  
A few days after the assault, Effie was summoned once again to Mrs Dustin’s office. She’d known this meeting was coming, but it hadn’t stopped her from drinking heavily and drug-taking with Sansa and Margaery the night beforehand. When she entered Mrs Dustin’s office, a gnome was smashing pots against her skull, her intestines were tying themselves in knots, and her eyelids were made of lead. Mrs Dustin had apparently rearranged her office on a whim; removing the chairs opposite her desk so that Effie was forced to stand as the gnome began yelling and playing dizzy dinosaurs inside her head.  
“You’re quite an influence on the others with what you’re doing.” Dustin’s voice cut through the racket like a blade of ice, making Effie shiver.  
“I’m not doing anything.” Effie argued flatly.  
“No one was sneaking out to go gallivanting around the town before you came along.” Dustin retorted, not even bothering to look at her as she continued scribbling something, as if Effie’s antics were beginning to bore her.  
“So I’m to blame when teenage girls behave like teenage girls?”  
“Indulging in debauchery is not what these girls need.” Dustin sighed.   
“I don’t force it on them.” Effie shrugged.  
“Of course you don’t.” The headmistress retorted dryly, shaking her head. _She thinks I’m lying._  
“What are you so afraid of?” Effie asked after a moment’s pause, her voice cracking with fatigue and need of fluid. Preferably non-alcoholic.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“You’re afraid of something. What is it?” Mrs Dustin smiled, as if the notion amused her, and carried on drafting out a letter. It didn’t pass Effie’s notice that she was avoiding her gaze.  
“One of my students was assaulted and mugged miles from where she should have been. Perhaps I fear what will become of these girls under your influence.”  
“You make me sound like I’m a drug.” Effie laughed dully. “But that’s bullshit. You and I both know you don’t give a flying fuck what happens to these girls.” Dustin looked up as Effie smiled. There was something chilling about it, and Barbrey had to suppress a shudder.   
“You’re afraid of me.”  
“Miss Snow that’s quite ridiculous.” Dustin argued, her tone incredulous.  
“Is it? Elinor’s assault bought you a little too close to the police for comfort, didn’t it Miss?” She sneered.  
“We both have our secrets I’m sure Miss Snow. Fortunately, mine don’t happen to include mental illness and an apparent reliability on illegal narcotics. Now, I’m sure you’d like to know why you’ve been summoned. Following the assault on Elinor, it has become apparent to me that you are a danger to this school and its students, therefore I consider it only suitable that you be automatically and permanently expelled.” Effie’s cold confidence rapidly melted away to maddened fear.  
“You can’t send me home!” She yelped. “I…I’m not better yet.”  
“As you said yourself, your rebellious behaviour is considered typical of teenage girls. I believe we’ve done all we can for you.” Dustin feigned a warm smile before continuing to write.  
Effie struggled to refrain from spitting at her and instead reached out for the scissors on Mrs Dustin’s desk, barely pausing for a moment’s thought before dragging the blade across the back of her hand, leaving a thick ribbon of blood in its wake. Dustin watched in horror and flinched when the bloodied scissors clattered onto the wooden floor.  
“I’m not better yet.” Effie hissed through gritted teeth, oblivious to the blood oozing through her fingers as she clutched the wounded hand tightly to her chest. Eyes fixated on the blood, Mrs Dustin reached for the phone. “Jeyne? We’ve had an incident in my office, can you come and clean it up please? Thank you.” Slamming the phone down, Dustin met Effie’s steely stare with her own. “Very well, I will let you have one more chance. As our traditional methods seem to have had little effect, I believe we should try something more extreme. You will carry on here at Barrowton in complete isolation. You are not to fraternise with any of these girls. Silence in the corridors and communal areas at all times. You will be removed from your allocated room and moved to one of the isolation suites where you will be watched 24/7, so do not so much as consider trying to escape.” Dustin’s lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile. “You will get better, and you will do so alone. I will inform Mr Bolton of your sudden change of circumstances. I’m sure he will agree with me that this will be the last chance you are granted. Fuck it up and you’ll go back to him, sane or otherwise.”  
Effie managed a small, amused smile. “Sometimes, I think, to live in debt to that man you have to be a little insane.” Dustin gave a disapproving look, but could say nothing before there was a knock at the door and Jeyne peered in.  
“You called, Mrs Dustin?”   
“It seems Miss Snow has taken two steps back. See to her would you? And take those scissors too. I want them thoroughly washed and sterilised before they are brought back to me.” Dustin waved a dismissive hand and returned to her writing, leaving Jeyne to gasp and fret over the blood that still oozed from Effie’s self-inflicted wound.

The cut required stitches. Effie hadn’t realised how deep she had cut herself as at the time there had been no pain. As Jeyne stitched it up, she wondered if it had hurt when she cut herself before. That period always seemed somewhat hazy in her mind and she regularly found herself struggling to determine what had been a dream, and what had been real.  
“That’s going to leave a scar.” Jeyne informed, cutting the thread.  
“I hope so.” Effie just shrugged and inspected the tender flesh. Sighing, Jeyne noisily cleared away what she had used. “Why did you do it Effie? You’ve been doing so well recently.” Jeyne’s back was to her, so Effie couldn’t see her face. Remaining silent for a time, Effie wondered why Jeyne should care how well she was doing. Perhaps she just wanted her gone. “Dustin said she’d expel me. She said I was better.” Effie admitted flatly.  
“Well, you _are_ better.” Jeyne admitted, still keeping her back to her.  
“Yes. But I don’t want to go back.” Effie mumbled childishly. Her head was still pounding and she wanted nothing more than to just go to bed.   
“You live with Ramsay’s father now, don’t you?” Jeyne asked, moving over to her desk to set out Effie’s medication that she was still required to take every day. For a moment Effie thought she would vomit as her stomach lurched about like a boat caught in a storm, though she wasn’t sure if it was down to the drinking or the mention of Roose. Moving over to take her pills, Effie just nodded her reply. “Maybe things will be different now. He can’t be like Ramsay.” Jeyne’s voice was quiet and she avoided Effie’s gaze. Effie almost gagged as she dry swallowed a pill. “No.” She replied. “He’s worse.”  
Before Jeyne could even attempt to argue, Effie turned and left the room.

Solitude came somewhat easily. Effie had, after all, spent most of her years with only her brother for solid company. That didn’t mean she enjoyed being isolated though. With the other girls, she had built a life for herself; a world that was now being torn down around her, brick by brick. She still saw her friends, and they made small talk in looks and smiles, but she was never allowed to speak to them. Even the teachers barely addressed her directly. One morning Effie had dared to roll up her skirt just before class, breaking the two inches above the knee rule. Even then, the teacher had pretended not to notice. Effie would have gone full rebel and worn her own clothes had it not been for her constant companions. If the solitude didn’t drive her mad, their presence certainly would. During out of school hours, Mistress Unella followed her everywhere and watched her like a hawk. Whilst she was in lessons, a girl called Shireen (otherwise known as Dustin’s lapdog) would watch her and sit beside her. Effie didn’t mind much. Shireen was a clever girl and she had always been too timid to join them on their midnight outings, seeming to find teacher’s more fun to be around. Neither of them were allowed to speak to one another, which would have been difficult to accomplish anyway considering that Shireen’s head always seemed to be trapped in a book. The only time Effie did see her companion speak was during lessons and when she had private sessions with her teachers, which was almost every break time. That was why Effie seemed to spend most of her break times in the staffroom, desperately trying to entertain herself by studying the mildly amusing memes that had been stuck to the walls in a desperate attempt to lighten the miserable atmosphere in the room. Multiple times her teachers had spoken to her, suggesting she be getting on with homework, but Effie had so much time on her hands now that all her homework was completed as soon as she got back to her room. It was better than the alternative. Occasionally, when she’d had nothing better to do, she’d just sat in her room in total silence. That had given the opportunity for faces to appear between the cracks; faces from a nightmare she’d had long ago. Effie had quickly grabbed a book to distract herself with, but she could still feel them there, waiting for the smallest sign of weakness.    
Even at weekends, Effie still wasn’t allowed her own belongings. She wasn’t even allowed to attend her enrichment periods; instead being forced to sit in the library and study. If there was one thing the solitude had helped her with, it was getting the first drafts of her coursework in on time, but that was all. She missed her friends and her new life. She missed Anguy and their archery sessions. Dustin had also ordered she be kicked off the sports teams, though she attended one to ones with Miss Tarth to keep her fitness up. Even therapy sessions had been halted as Varys was away dealing with personal issues. Effie sort of missed him and wondered if this issues had been what was troubling him during their last few sessions. The only form of therapy she received now was writing in her notebook, but her story was almost finished.  
_No, not finished. Not yet_.  
With the faces closing in however, Effie began to fear otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my lack of updates! Firstly I went up North (as in the actual north of england) to visit my sister and have a mini holiday, secondly I received my results from college and got into university which is great but I suddenly realised that it's kind of close to, you know, the real world and apparently in the real world people require money and I don't have any of that so now I have to work my butt off like adults do. I've come to the conclusion that I want to remain a child.  
> It doesn't mean I haven't been writing. In truth I've written a lot, it's just all in the notebook I carry everywhere (kind of like Effie and her notebook I suppose) and I haven't had the time to type it all up yet!


	35. Intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my friend, my friend  
> uncurl, unbend  
> I'll be your guide, stay by my side  
> and follow me all the way down

One Friday, two weeks after she had been put into isolation, it was announced that there would be an assembly after lunch. Of course all the students rightfully assumed that it would concern the issue of them sneaking out at night. Even after Effie had been put into isolation, the girls had still found ways to escape during the night.  
Shireen lingered at the back of the crowd of students as they made their way to the assembly hall, with Effie following a few steps behind. When they reached the door, Shireen turned abruptly and offered an apologetic smile as she grasped Effie’s arm and pushed her back down onto a chair just outside the door, before heading into the theatre herself. It was apparent that Effie wasn’t welcome at school gatherings any more. She wasn’t one of them. An intruder. A pestilence. Even so, she immediately stood back up and peered through the window in one of the doors. When Barbrey ascended the steps onto the stage, the teachers all sat behind her, Effie began to kick the door. A steady, relentless rhythm.  
_Thud thud thud._  
“May I have absolute silence?”  
_Thud thud thud._  
A number of students turned and stared at her, muttering to one another as Effie continued pounding the wood with her foot, no doubt discussing her bedraggled appearance. She looked a mess, but that was how she wanted to look. Crazed. Maddened. The isolation and solitude appearing to have eaten away at her sanity and her soul. Dark shadows had settled beneath her eyes where she had refused to sleep. At night she dreamt and couldn’t control her mind. The faces were there; slamming their fists against the walls, screaming at her, relentlessly trying to break through. So she starved her body of rest as best she could.  
Effie caught sight of the faces of Sansa and Margaery and gave a tired smile.  
Barbrey stood on the stage and said nothing, just gave her that disappointed and bored look. After a time, when the crowd had fallen silent, Effie ceased kicking the door and continued to watch Dustin as she began to speak. “In light of recent events, it has been decided that the entire school will be restricted by a curfew, as punishment for reckless behaviour.” The murmurings of disagreement from students did little to mask the hiccups of laughter coming from behind Barbrey. Mrs Merryweather, the drama teacher, had her head tilted back and mouth gaping open as she belched out laughter. Effie smiled her wry smile as the laughter rippled out uncontrollably amongst a number of the other teachers and Dustin glanced behind her, confused by their spontaneous giggling. “Silence please.” She barked as the students also began to titter at the sight of their teachers’ lack of inhibitions. Despite Mrs Dustin’s orders, four of the teachers refused to remain silent. Effie’s smile widened as Mrs Merryweather slowly rose to her feet, staring as if she were hypnotized by the theatre lights. “Oh wooow…” She sighed. “It’s so…so _bright_.” Closing her eyes, Mrs Merryweather reached up for the light. She began to spin around drunkenly before beginning to dance to some imagined beat. The students’ laughter grew as their drama teacher, English teacher, history teacher, and science teacher all turned the stage into a silent disco.  
For a long time, Barbrey did nothing but watch them; mouth open in horror. That was until Effie began to kick the door again in a beat that matched the dancing teachers. When Dustin turned to look at her, her expression murderous, Effie also released a disjointed, breathy laugh. She too could hear the music, because she too had eaten the brownies. The ones she’d made in cooking class. The ones she’d left in the staff room when Shireen went in there at lunch time. The brownies she’d slipped Theon’s MDMA into. It was good shit, she’d give him that much.  
Effie kept Mrs Dustin’s gaze, chuckling madly, _laughing_ at her. “Enough!” Dustin yelled but to no avail. Effie laughed harder as there was nothing the teacher could do but grow red in the face.  
“Oh yeah, can you hear that music? It’s wonderful!” Merryweather proclaimed, still dancing. When Sansa stood up, Effie looked away from Mrs Dustin. “Yeah I got it.” Sansa laughed, dragging Margaery to her feet and starting to dance. One by one, the students joined in the silent disco. Effie remained outside, her sides beginning to ache with laughter. Here she was, on the outside looking in, where Dustin wanted her to be, yet she was still a disruptive influence. And what could Dustin do about it? Nothing.

Before the ruined assembly ended, Effie headed back to her room, smiling smugly at her accomplishments. Once she reached the building in which the isolation suites were situated, Effie’s sense of accomplishment rapidly gave way to curiosity.  
“Let go of me!” A girl screamed. “Don’t touch me you old bitch!” Cautiously, Effie continued towards her room, where the voices also came from.  
“Enough Ygritte, we are trying to help you.” Mistress Unella replied flatly.  
“Bullshit. You’re here to imprison me.” The girl, Ygritte, hissed back; her Northern accent thick. Turning onto the corridor where her room was, Effie caught sight of three figures; Ygritte, Unella and one other of the dorm mistresses. “What’s up?” Effie asked casually, trying to hide her curiosity.  
“Ygritte, this is Effie Snow. She also has an isolation suite.”  
“Snow?” Ygritte’s head whipped around and her eyes filled with hate. Effie barely had time to blink before the girl was running at her. Ygritte leapt, knocking her to the ground. “Fucking bastard!” She shrieked, her hand tightening around Effie’s throat. “He left me! He fucking left me.” Ygritte snarled, landing a punch with each word as Effie writhed beneath her, desperately trying to escape this mad girl. “We were a team. A pack. We were supposed to save each other. And he fucking left me.” Ygritte was sobbing now, but Effie was too scared to pity her. Fortunately, before she lost consciousness due to lack of oxygen, the two mistresses dragged the girl off of her and kept a tight grip, pulling Ygritte away down the hall by her arms. Gasping for air and pinching her nose shut to stop the blood that was pouring from it, Effie staggered to her feet. “Go to your room Miss Snow.” Unella commanded. For once, Effie was all too glad to obey.

“What time is the curfew?” Margaery asked breathlessly.  
“Fuck the curfew.” Sansa growled, smiling wickedly before meeting her girlfriend’s sweet lips once more.  
“As if…you aren’t…in enough…trouble…already.” Margaery gasped between kisses. Inhaling sharply, Margaery bit down on her lip and whined as Sansa’s finger slipped a finger inside of her and began to stroke agonisingly slowly. “Ngh…Sansa…ah!” Margaery squealed. To her annoyance, Sansa pulled out and leapt off of the bed. “Where are you going?” Margaery propped herself up on the bed, annoyed by her girlfriend’s abrupt exit.  
“I bought something with me.” Sansa giggled. Slumping back on the bed, Margaery sighed and rolled her eyes. “Let me guess, drugs?”  
“Yep!” Sansa laughed, pulling out a packet of pills. Leaping back onto the bed, Sansa yanked Margaery up roughly and placed a pill on her own tongue, leaning forward for Margaery to take into her own mouth. To her surprise, Margaery leant back, putting distance between them.  
“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked, pill still perched on her tongue.  
“I just…it feels like we’re always getting high these days.” Margaery sighed, avoiding her gaze. Sansa frowned, confused. They always had fun when they were on a high, what was the problem with that?  
“High sex is the best sex.” She joked, leaning in again. Apparently her joke had failed to lighten the mood. “How do we know that if we’ve never fucked with our heads screwed on straight?” Margaery argued bitterly. Sansa slumped back onto her haunches and took the pill out of her mouth. “Fine, have it your way.” She shrugged, climbing off the bed.  
“Don’t be like that Sans. It’s just…you aren’t _you_ when you’ve taken something.”  
“Less likely to do what you tell me you mean.” Sansa snapped, pulling on her socks.  
“No. It’s just not the Sansa I fell in love with.” Margaery argued, smiling gently.  
“And which Sansa was that? Because I sure as hell don’t have a clue seeing as you never told me!” The words stung more than she had meant them to, and Sansa instantly felt guilty. She was too infuriated to apologise though.  
“I’m sorry okay? I just wasn’t _sure_ like you were. I’m still not entirely certain that it’s just girls I fancy. It might just be you.” Margaery mumbled miserably. Sansa was too angered by those words to pity her girlfriend’s confusion. “Great. That’s fucking great Marj. So what am I? Just your fucking experiment?” Angrily stuffing her feet into her school shoes, Sansa reached for her school bag.  
“No you’re my girlfriend. Sans, wait. Sansa!”  
“I’m done with waiting Margaery. Let me know when you’ve discovered the findings of your experiment okay?” Sansa shrugged her off as Margaery tried to stop her from storming out. The moment Margaery’s door was closed behind her, Sansa burst into tears and half walked, half ran to her dorm room on the ground floor. She didn’t bother turning on the light, preferring the darkness that matched her mood. The room was draughty and cold. Sansa spent so little time in her room these days that she couldn’t remember if she’d left the window open the last time she had been in here. The dorm room windows could only be opened from the inside, and sure enough hers stood wide open. Wide enough for a human to fit through. Sansa shrugged and closed it. It had been a mutual agreement that they could use the windows of those living on the ground floor to sneak out using their windows and return through it for a small fee. Someone must have used her window while she was in Margaery’s room.  
Slipping out of her blazer, Sansa threw it onto her bed, angry tears still searing her cheeks.  
Her anger was soon replaced by cold fear as two hands grasping a gag materialised from the darkness. In the gloom of her room, and with the gag not allowing her to turn, she couldn’t see his face. But she knew his voice well enough. “Cry or run for help and I’ll rape you first.” Ramsay growled in her ear, knotting the gag tight until it bit into her tear-stained cheeks. He stood right behind her; fingers toying with her soft red hair. “Hm, it’s a waste, I know. But we can’t have the two of you getting friendly. That could cause trouble.” He hummed. Sansa whined, confused. Get friendly with who? She trembled violently; prey that knew it had stumbled straight into the merciless jaws of a predator.  
“So who to let live? That was the question we asked ourselves. You drew the short straw I’m afraid. The other one knows things you don’t. Barbrey wants the Starks dead. You’re know use to the Lannister’s anymore. You’re fucking flowers. And I want my sister back. I won’t get what I want while she’s happy here.”  
From behind the gag, Sansa released a choked sob. She had not been prepared for this yet. “All in good time sweetling.” Littlefinger had assured her. But he had more time than Sansa did, and that hurt almost as much as the thought of leaving words unsaid with Margaery did.  
“My father asked me to tell you to send his regards to your parents when you see them. And your brothers too. Don’t worry, the rest will join you soon enough. Do tell Jon, once he joins you, that his girlfriend is incredibly pissed. He better hope she keeps her mouth shut so we don’t kill her before he joins you. Though I doubt she will. The Lannister’s want us to try a more subtle way first but if that doesn’t work…well…I can be _very_ persuasive.” Ramsay’s hot breath stirred her hair as he chuckled in her ear. Sansa began to fight his grip, but his arms tightened around her.  
“Come on then pet, let’s get this over with.” From beneath her desk, Sansa saw a thin, trembling shadow appear and shuffle towards her. Even from behind the gag, she could still smell the stench of the creature. “You know what to do, don’t you pet?” On shaking legs, the shadow rose, but remained unimposing. Before Sansa could strike out to knock him down, Ramsay pushed her down onto the bed and forced her left arm out, pulling the sleeve of her shirt up to expose the pale, quivering flesh beneath.  
“Take off my belt pet.” Ramsay instructed with glee in his voice. Sansa struggled as best he could, but Ramsay was built of bone and muscle. A beast in human skin. Her efforts proved fruitless and she froze beneath him, panting in terror. She was absurdly relieved when the belt tightened around her arm and Ramsay’s trousers remained on, but the relief was short lived. Even in the darkness, she could see the fine silver streak of the needle. The whimpering shadow tapped at the veins in her arm.  
“He was very good at this once you know. See? He doesn’t even need the light to see where the vein is. Unfortunately for you, he’s a bit more…twitchy…than he used to be, so it might take a few attempts.” Ramsay’s assumptions proved correct. The shaking shadow took four tries before it finally found a vein. The sobs that shook Sansa’s whole form didn’t help either. Every attempt felt more painful than the last. When the needle found a vein, she could feel the liquid mixing with her blood; the silent killer hiding amongst it. Sansa’s heart hammered, pumping so fast it began to hum in her ears. Ramsay said something else, but Sansa forced herself not to hear it, preferring to hear her desperate, frightened heart over his cruel words.  
Death kissed her forehead gently, giving her his kind blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a list of the songs I listen to whilst writing. This is just if any of you are interested because music is a massive part of my writing process, especially with this work as there are so many emotions and ‘zones’ you have to get into.
> 
> Effie: Child Psychology – Black Box Recorder, Can You Feel My Heart – Bring Me The Horizon, November Song – When The Clouds  
> Ramsay & Effie: Monster – Meg and Dia, Let Me In – Tracey Thorn (Early Ramsay/Effie), My Immortal – Evanescence, Little Things – Tracey Thorn  
> Damon & Effie: Ace of Spades – Motorhead (More Damon than Effie obviously), Vampire Smile – Kyla La Grange, Northern Lights – Jaymes Young, Poison and Wine – Civil Wars, Give You What You Like – Avril Lavigne, I’m Not Yours – Angus and Julia Stone, Take What I can Get – Matthew Mayfield, Draw Your Swords – Angus and Julia Stone  
> Barrowton Girls: This Is What Makes Us Girls – Lana Del Ray, Follow Me Down – Tracey Thorn
> 
> I know there’s a lot for Damon and Effie, but they’re just so beautifully fucked up. Obviously we haven’t seen that much of Damon’s life (yet) and he’s not as fucked up as she is but I do love ‘em.


	36. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Lolita, hey  
> I know what the boys want, I'm not gonna play

Screams filled her dreams, shocking her out of her restless sleep. Sitting bolt upright, Effie blinked away sleep and tried to make sense of the sorrowful wails that had replaced their usual school bell wake up call.  
“Help! Somebody please! Someone help her!” On recognising Margaery’s panic stricken voice, Effie threw back the covers and hit the ground running, not bothering to pull on trousers or shoes. The coast was clear outside her room for once, but Effie wouldn’t have noticed even if there had been someone standing guard. The isolation suites were in the building next to the dormitories, and the grass was wet beneath Effie’s bare feet as she sprinted across the green, leaping over the flowerbeds that seemed dull and lifeless in the onset of winter. She barely slowed down once crossing the threshold and her feet were a blur beneath her. Effie could barely hear the screams now over the sound of her pounding heart. Something was very, very wrong; her whole being knew it. As she navigated the maze of ground floor dorms, tears seared her cheeks and her palms were slick with sweat. When she drew closer and closer to Sansa’s room, and the pitiful sobs loudened, Effie’s stomach lurched sickeningly and she felt as though her throat were collapsing in on itself.  
A crowd of pale-faced, weeping students filled the hallway outside Sansa’s room. “Move!” Effie barked as she hurled herself through them. “Get out of my way!” She was vaguely aware of a hand trying to pull her back but Effie shrugged it off, not ceasing her crazed charge until she reached Sansa’s room.   
“Margaery you have to let go of her now. The police and ambulance will be here soon.” Jeyne’s voice was a split second of calm amongst the raging storm.  
“No!” Margaery snapped ferociously. “I won’t leave her.”   
Effie stood in the doorway as her friend cradled Sansa’s still, lifeless form in her arms. “You’re not allowed to die Sansa. You’re not.” Margaery wept.  “Don’t you dare die on me!” When tears began to sting her eyes, Effie clamped her eyes shut. The image of Margaery holding Sansa warped and shifted in her mind’s eye. _  
Don’t you dare die on me.  
_ It was a male voice this time. A shadowed, faceless figure. Who was he? She couldn’t remember. He was too…real.  
_No. He’s not real. He never was. He can’t hurt me.  
_ “Sansa please!” Effie’s eyes snapped open as Margaery begged. Even from where she stood, Effie could tell it was too late. Death had come, death had gone. Though in what form it had taken, she did not know.   
“It’s too late Miss Tyrell. I’m sorry.” Effie turned at the sound of Mrs Dustin’s clipped, cold tone. She was doing very well at looking like she actually cared, but Effie knew it was a mask. “She can’t leave me! She’s not allowed to die!” Margaery wailed.  
“She’s already dead.” Dustin pointed out, not sparing Effie a glance as she passed her. “Jeyne, take Margaery for a cup of tea to calm her down.”  
“I need to stay here. There’s something the police should know…”  
“Time for that later, Miss Poole.” Barbrey cut in sharply. “This is hardly the time or place. Have some respect!” Jeyne’s face paled with guilt. If looks could have killed, Effie would have sent Dustin crashing to the ground; her body cold before she even hit the floor.  
“Come on Margaery.” Jeyne muttered softly, wrapping a comforting arm around the grieving girl’s shoulders. Margaery gently settled Sansa’s head back onto the pillow, kissing her brow gently before allowing Jeyne to lead her from the room. For a moment, it looked as if Sansa was simply sleeping.  
“Everyone back to their rooms. Remain there until you are told otherwise.” Dustin ordered. Many of the girls were crying; clinging to one another to try and ease the sense of loss they felt. Even the three Sand girls had fallen quiet, their heads bowed as they followed the crowd away from Sansa’s room. Effie remained where she was at the door, her eyes moving from Sansa’s body to Mrs Dustin; analysing her every move.  
“You are no exception, Miss Snow. Back to your room.” Dustin ordered, still not deigning to look at her.  
“Funny. I seemed to be an exception at the assembly yesterday.” Effie muttered bitterly, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end as Mrs Dustin took a step towards Sansa.  
“Yes, that was an amusing trick you pulled. I can’t help but wonder though, what the police will think. Yesterday you spiked brownies with MDMA and now we’ve woken up to find a student dead after a heroine overdose.” Effie’s heart stuttered to a stop and her wide-eyed gaze turned back to Sansa.  
_You did this_ a voice inside her head accused.  
_You’re dangerous_ her mother shrieked.  
“No.” Effie whispered. “No…I didn’t…I never meant…” The words wouldn’t form in her mind. It felt wrong denying it in front of Sansa, corpse that she was. “I can fix this. How can I fix this?” Her voice was a high-pitched squeal. Dry sobs ripped her apart and she doubled over from the pain of them, but tears refused to fall.  
“Actions have consequences, Miss Snow. Your reckless behaviour was a dangerous influence and now one of my students is dead.” Effie could feel Mrs Dustin as she twisted the blade in her heart. “Go back to your room. I suggest you think long and hard about what to say when the police arrive.” Effie didn’t even attempt to argue, just headed back to her room. Of Ygritte, there was no sign. Effie wouldn’t have minded if she had seen her. She wanted to hurt; to be punished for what she’d done. Sansa had been her friend. She should have known. She should never have gotten so close. It never could have done any good for anyone. They had had fun together on their nights out and Effie had thought she’d been making their lives better, but Sansa never would have started taking drugs were it not for her.  
_The only thing I’m good at is destroying myself._

“Effie Snow?” The officer asked brusquely, looking up as the other one let her in. The one by the door smiled kindly at her and was considerably younger. The other had droopy eyes, similar to those of a bloodhound, and sat behind the makeshift interrogation desk as though it were his kingdom. It was clear which one was playing bad cop.  
“The one and only.” Effie slurred. Once she had returned to her room that morning, she’d found the emergency bottle of vodka that was stashed beneath the bed. All the students, excluding Effie and most likely Ygritte, had been called to the hall to await interrogation. In her room, the faces cried out to her; their screams louder than they had been since before. Effie had managed half the bottle before Unella came to escort her. But even in her intoxicated state, Effie was sure she knew the older officer from somewhere.   
“Please, take a seat Effie.” The younger one said, again smiling warmly at her. Still trying to place where she knew the older officer from, she sat down opposite him. “Miss Snow, I am PC Trant. We want to ask you a few questions concerning the suicide of Sansa Stark.” He said coldly, curling his lip as if she disgusted him. Even with his name, she still couldn’t remember how she knew him.  
“Suicide?” Effie’s voice would go no higher than a whisper. “I thought she overdosed?”  
“She did. CCTV shows her returning to her dorm in a state of upset, following an argument with her girlfriend.” PC Trant informed, his tone implying he couldn’t seem to care less. As if he was above all this. “She proceeded to inject herself with a vast quantity of heroine. Paramedics confirmed that it was the cause of death.” The vodka inside of her seemed to roll in burning waves, crashing violently against her insides. “Your headmistress has informed us that since your arrival here at Barrowton cases of drug and alcohol abuse have increased. Have you ever taken illegal narcotics?”  
“Do I know you?” Effie blurted, unable to keep the alcohol from speaking. The man’s face reddened in irritation. Her eyes narrowed as she glimpsed shame hidden beneath the anger. “A student has died Effie. We need to keep on track here?” The younger one urged. Nodding, Effie slumped back in the chair and continued trying to place PC Trant in her head.  
“Do you know this man?” Trant asked, sliding a mugshot over the desk. Effie frowned when she recognised Theon Greyjoy staring miserably back at her, looking a little younger than the last time she’d seen him. “Yeah. That’s Theon Greyjoy.” She answered. Despite what had occurred since their last meeting, Effie was unable to smirk at the memory. It all seemed so trivial now.  
“Whom you met at a club recently?”  
“We knew each other when we were younger.” Effie admitted. It was perhaps the closest anyone had gotten to learning about her old life.  
“Reports tell us you were seen going behind the club alone with Theon. You are aware he is a known drug dealer?” Trant asked as though he were accusing her of something.  
“Do you think he gave Sansa the heroine?” Effie was ready to wretch right there and then. If Theon had given Sansa the drugs, it would have been because Sansa thought him trustworthy, because she had seen him with Effie.  
“It is most unlikely considering Theon Greyjoy disappeared that same night.” The blood drained from Effie’s face and she was momentarily deafened by the sound of her own heart pounding. “Do you mind telling us what occurred behind the club that night Effie?” Her palms were slick with sweat and her mouth as dry as sandpaper.  
“I…” What could she say? She had assaulted him and stolen his drugs, but she couldn’t tell them that. She’d go to prison. _Would that really be so bad?_ No doubt she was going to be expelled for sure this time. Life with Roose was a different sort of prison anyway.  
“We kissed for a while. Then I kicked him into the balls until he fell to the ground.” Effie replied tonelessly.  
“Did you get any drugs off him?” Effie hesitated, wondering why he had chosen not to point out her assault.  
“I stole some MDMA while he was down.” She was desperately digging herself deeper and deeper. She couldn’t hurt anyone underground.  
“Was that all?” PC Trant remained unperturbed despite her confessing multiple crimes.  
“I assaulted him and _stole_ his _MDMA_.”  
“Yes I heard. Is that all?”  
“Yes.” Effie sighed in frustration.  
“So you took no heroine from him?”  
“No? Why?”  
“Perhaps you stole that from him as well as the MDMA. Perhaps it was _you_ that gave it to Sansa Stark.” She could have sworn the corner of Trant’s mouth twitched upwards as he fought back a triumphant smile.    
“What? No! I never…”  
“The syringe Sansa Stark used had the Greyjoy kraken printed on the side, and you are the only student here at Barrowton that has been seen with a Greyjoy.”  
Effie’s drunken mind was sobering up rapidly. Her jaw dropped; opening and closing as she searched desperately for words. Any words. She could have easily argued and denied any involvement, but she didn’t. Effie didn’t care if she was implicated. If it wasn’t for her, Sansa never would have gotten into drugs in the first place. She wanted and needed the punishment.  
“Nevertheless, Mrs Dustin tells us that you have been in isolation these past couple of weeks and that many of the girls have continued to sneak out. Therefore there is not enough evidence for us to confirm your involvement.” Once again, Effie was rendered speechless. With a cruel, satisfied smile, Trant began to jot down notes in his book, suggesting the interrogation had reached its end.  
“Is that it then?” Effie asked bitterly.  
“Yes. You are free to go.” Trant glanced up at her and sneered.   
And then it clicked. The way he looked at her like she was scum off the bottom of his shoe.  
Behind her, the younger officer opened the door. Effie didn’t move.  
“Bet you thought you’d died and gone to heaven when they sent you here.” Effie said, smirking.  
“I beg your pardon?”  
“So many young girls. Conveniently placed desk too. Tell me, if I looked under it now would I find your hand stuffed down your pants? Or maybe just a crusty sock?” Meryn turned red with rage and Effie lent forward, place her hands on the desk. “Oh yes, I remember you. You were one of the first, right? Had a very specific fetish. The bruises lasted a very long time. Came less and less when I turned fifteen though. What happened Humbert Humbert? Did the nymphet get too old?” Effie asked; eyes blazing, grinning madly.  
“You’re drunk. I can smell it on you.” He snarled, repulsed.  
“Alcohol is perfect for loosening up the tongue. You should try using it in interrogations more often.” She laughed.  
“What is she talking about?” The younger one asked, glancing from Effie to Meryn.  
“Dustin warned me of this one. She’s not right in the head, that’s why she’d here.”  
“Ha! We’re all mad here. And did Dustin tell you that? Or was it the Lannisters? That’s who you truly work for, right? Wasn’t I method of payment?” Meryn paled and inched away from her. Effie’s eyes grew wide with sudden realisation. “That’s it isn’t it? Oh my god…you aren’t here to investigate at all are you? It’s just a cover up. You’re just here to stop people asking questions!”  
“This interrogation is over!” Meryn growled. “Officer, see her out.” Effie turned to the younger officer as he approached her warily.  
“You want to catch a real criminal? He’s right under your nose. Let me guess, he goes to the loo or tells you to go and make a coffee after he’s seen the younger girls?” The poor man looked sickened. “How many years in prison is it for a convicted paedophile?” Effie asked PC Trant.  
“I will not hear these ludicrous accusations! Teacher!” Mistress Unella promptly entered, grim faced. “Effie has become over-stimulated. I suggest she is escorted back to her room immediately.” Effie began to laugh to herself madly.  
“My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee…”  
Effie was cut off mid-quote when a sudden storm of electricity hit her. Crumpling to the floor, she screamed and writhed in agony as the current ran through her; rattling every bone in her body.  
“What are you doing?” The young officer’s voice was barely audible over the buzzing.  
“I know a Taser seems extreme, but the girl was riled _and_ under the influence of alcohol.” As if to prove his point, Effie promptly vomited onto his shoes, her whole body still twitching. The scent of regurgitated vodka filled the room.  
“Take her back to her room and have that cleaned up.” Meryn ordered.  
Effie was still jerking uncontrollably as Unella dragged her to her feet and half pulled, half carried her from the room.


	37. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Her philosophy of life was that she might die at any moment.  
> The tragedy, she said, was that she didn't."

They were almost out of the main school building when Effie was hit by another wave of nausea. Clamping her hand over her mouth, she tore herself out of Unella’s grip and staggered into the nearest toilets, reaching one of the cubicles just in time. Her hands trembled so much that she wasn’t able to hold her hair back. The Taser had made her insides run riot and she wasn’t sure she was able to go anywhere; resting her head on the loo seat and dozing off within seconds instead.  
“I thought it was you.” At first, Effie wondered if Margaery’s voice was just another in her head. Choking back vomit, she turned to check and was relieved to see a pale-faced, wide-eyed Margaery at the door to her cubicle. “You look about as shit as I feel.” Effie slurred, wiping her mouth on her sleeve.  
“And why might that be? Oh yeah, my girlfriend’s dead.” Margaery’s voice was so bitter that it made Effie want to vomit again.  
“Margaery, I’m sorr…”  
“Sorry? Have you even shed a single tear for her?” Margaery snapped. Effie covered her face with trembling hands. “Don’t you dare hide from me! We trusted you! We didn’t think you were on their side!”  
“Side? What side?” Effie muttered.  
“You lying bitch!” Grabbing her by the hair, Margaery dragged Effie out of the cubicle. “This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Effie cried out as Margaery stamped on her stomach before proceeding to leap onto her, punching and slapping Effie relentlessly. “Getting her addicted to drugs. Pretending to be her friend. You sick fuck! It’s exactly what we should have expected. We never should have trusted you. Never!” Margaery screamed. Effie endured as the punches rained down. She relished every strike.  
_You deserve this_ her mother told her.

She woke to the sound of the school bell. Even when it ceased, the noise continued to fill her head until her brain seemed to develop a pulse. Groaning, Effie rolled over. Big mistake. Fortunately someone had thought to place an empty bin beside her bed for her to vomit into.  
“Lovely.” Effie groaned again at the sound of Mrs Dustin’s voice. She couldn’t even manage to glare at her. The woman she despised was sat at Effie’s desk, her hand resting innocently on top of a packed suitcase. “You seem a little under the weather, so allow me to explain exactly what is going to happen. In an hour you will be picked up via the front entrance. Your belongings are already packed for you. Your time at Barrowton House is over. We’ve done all we can for you.” With a smug smile, Dustin stood up. “I wish you all the best in your endeavours.” Effie watched her leave the room, unable to think of one last thing that would get under the headmistress’ skin.   
“Bitch.” She croaked once the door was shut. Pulling the bin closer, Effie vomited again.

An hour had seemed like barely enough time for her to get herself together and prepare herself for returning home.  
Effie showered first; scrubbing thoroughly at her skin in the vain hope of scrubbing herself away. She washed her hair, then washed it again. Her face was a mess of blood and bruises but it didn’t seem to matter all that much. Effie would gladly face a beating every day rather than returning home.  
Even after her thorough cleanse, Effie still had twenty minutes to spare. She hated the thought of remaining in the bare, empty room and allowing the faces a chance to resume their screaming. All her things had been packed away. Even the books that were in the suite when she’d been moved into it were gone. It were as if the room itself were repelling her and denying her existence.  
Unable to stand it a moment longer, Effie pulled on her Doc Martins and her coat and headed out. She had not seen Ygritte since their first meeting and there was no sign of her now either. Effie supposed it didn’t really matter anymore.  
The weather was miserable; the clouds promising tears that weren’t yet able to fall. Most of the students had been driven inside by the cold, wintrily wind, meaning that Effie walked alone. No one wanted to say goodbye to her. No one had ever wanted to say goodbye to her. As her feet lead the way down the gravel path, Effie found herself recalling the goodbyes she’d said four years ago. Mrs Hornwood, who had probably forgotten all about her the moment she’d left. Gendry, who had been glad to see her go. And then there was the goodbye she’d longed for, but never got to say. The goodbye she should have said to-  
“Hi Effie.” Jeyne’s voice made her turn suddenly. Effie said nothing as the nurse hurried to catch up with her. They both carried on walking in silence, side by side, until they reached the edge of the ‘happy place’ though today, in the dismal gloom of early winter, the name seemed mocking.  
“I hear you’re going home today.” Jeyne said gently.  
“I’m going back to Roose and Ramsay. I wouldn’t say I’m going home.” Effie replied sullenly, staring out across the sodden field. “This was the first place I saw Sansa actually happy.” Effie thought aloud.  
“You knew each other before Barrowton?”  
“Same social circles.” Effie shrugged. “The first time I saw her was at a party, the same day Ramsay and I moved in with Roose. I think the only person I’d ever seen more unhappy than her was you.” She admitted, swallowing the lump in her throat and turning her gaze down to her feet.  
“Sansa was in a bad way when she came here.” Jeyne nodded. “I saw a lot of myself in her too. She was broken, both mentally and physically. There were bruises and scars all over her body.”  
“Joffrey liked to use a whip.” Effie told her, unable to hold back her smirk of amusement. “He used it on me once.”  
“Oh?”  
“Yeah. Didn’t go well. I was stoned at the time. I told him to hit me harder, then I punched him in the face.” There was a moment of silence before they both burst out laughing. The laughter only lasted a few seconds. It felt wrong for both of them.  
“I’d better go.” Effie sighed. “Can I tell you something, before I go?”  
Jeyne paused, and Effie knew she was wondering whether or not they were over-stepping the mark. She was still Ramsay’s sister, after all.  
“Sure. What is it?” Jeyne said eventually.  
“Two things. The first is that Anguy is in love with you, and that he’s a decent guy who would never hurt you. Believe me, I’ve learnt to tell what kind of guys are capable of breaking you, and he’s not one of them…”  
“Effie…”  
“The second is that I’ve stashed some drugs underneath my mattress and you should probably be the one to find them, because I stole them from your store room.” It was only a matter of seconds before Jeyne grew angry.  
“You what? I could get fired for that!” She yelled, suddenly upset as she feared for the safety of her job.  
“Goodbye Jeyne.” Effie said, smiling her Effie smile and heading back up the gravel path.

Neither Ramsay nor Roose came to pick her up and Effie wasn’t too sure whether she was grateful for that when she saw Locke pull up outside. She was sat in the lobby, alone, her suitcase and bags stacked beside her, feet drawn up onto the bench, her chin resting on her knees. Locke looked out of place in the grand lobby. “You ready?” He asked gruffly. Effie just nodded, recalling when she had first met Locke. He was unchanged since then. He had the same hawk-like, unsmiling eyes, and now Effie no longer had Ramsay to hide behind. To her relief, he opened the door to the backseat for her. She had no desire to sit beside him in the passenger seat. “Get in kiddo.” He said, like he had done four years ago. He made her feel like a child again; vulnerable and helpless. When he slammed the door shut, Effie flinched away from it and watched him as he got into the driver’s seat. It unsettled her that their eyes could meet in the rear-view mirror.  
“Just like old times eh?” He asked, meeting her reflection’s gaze, his lips stretching into a smile.  
“Yeah, I guess.” Effie replied quietly, before putting in her headphones and signalling she would say no more. Locke also seemed content to say nothing and just focus on getting home.  
It wasn’t until they got home that Effie realised why. It should have been obvious. Oh, it should have been so, so obvious why Locke had been so keen. But she hadn’t noticed. She suspected nothing until Locke drove past the house, heading on down a dirt track towards the garage where he worked. When the child locks snapped down, Effie looked at the mirror. Locke stared back. He smiled again as if this were the norm. Instinctively, Effie’s hand searched out the door handle despite knowing that there would be no escape whilst the locks were down. But Locke would have to get out eventually. He’d have to unlock the car then. Effie was relieved when they pulled into the garage and she saw that Ramsay’s car was there too. Ramsay was home. She might be angry at him, and he might still be mad at her, but surely he wouldn’t let Locke hurt her.  
Effie’s hope was shattered when Locke pulled out a remote, pressed a button, and watched as the garage doors slowly began to close. Besides the back door, there was no other way of escaping, and no doubt Locke had thought to lock it already. For a time, neither of them moved, and the only thing Effie could hear was her ragged breathing.  
“Mr Bolton’s gone on his honeymoon.” Those words were unexpected, but they made Effie feel no less comfortable. She swallowed anxiously. “He told me to remind you of what happens to bad investments.” A small whimper escaped her between frantic breaths, and Locke turned in his seat to look at her. “No point fighting it kid, it’ll only make things worse. You see, up until now, you’ve been given the pick of the bunch really. There’s been the odd bad fruit sure, but Mr Bolton’s been keeping you exclusively for his best customers.” Effie chewed on her lip to stifle another fearful whimper, and found herself unable to look away from that hungry stare. “But there’s some others. You might call them scum, I suppose, though I’m sure you’ve had men like them before. I do remember the shit hole that you used to live in. I’m sure your brother had a debt or two that needed paying.” At the mention of her brother, Effie glanced towards the garage door. “Don’t even think about it kid. Your brother has his own bitch to play with.” She couldn’t help the choked sob that escaped her then.  
_Stay away from Locke_ the voice was inside her head and it made her sob harder. _It’s too late. It’s too late.  
_ “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.” Locke leered. When he unlocked the doors, Effie stayed where she was, and listened to the voices inside her own head. It made it easier when they told her she deserved this.

“Enter!” Jeyne flinched as Barbrey’s sharp tone penetrated the heavy oak door. She had to lean her full weight against it in order for it to open. “What is it Jeyne?” Dustin asked brusquely, only glancing up at her for a second before continuing to write something. Jeyne took a hand off of the notebook and wiped it on the fabric of her skirt in an attempt to dry her sweaty palms. “Come on, out with it.” Mrs Dustin barked impatiently.  
“Forgive me for disturbing you Mrs Dustin.” She said, feeling like a student again. “It’s just that I found this notebook left behind in Effie’s room. I think you should look at it. There are…there are some things that perhaps should be brought to the attention of the authorities.” Jeyne’s voice was tremulous, and her hand shook as she held out the book for Mrs Dustin to take.   
She had been so mad at Effie after what she’d told her, and so afraid of the consequences that she’d gone straight to Effie’s room to seek out the drugs she’d said she’d taken. Jeyne had found no drugs, only this notebook. It was one of the ones Varys gave out for therapy. Jeyne had known immediately that Effie had handed her the means through which she could punish Ramsay for everything he’d put her through. But upon reading it, Jeyne had found herself becoming more sickened with every page she’d turned. She’d only managed to get halfway through before stopping and coming to the conclusion that she couldn’t handle this all on her own, and so she had gone to Barbrey. Barbrey needed to know what she’d sent Effie back to, in order for her to get the girl out of it as quick as possible.  
Dustin took the book and flicked through it quickly. “How much of this have you read?” She asked.  
“I got halfway. I couldn’t bear to read any more.” Jeyne admitted miserably. Barbrey nodded and placed the book down on a pile of papers before continuing to write. “Thank you for bringing this to me Jeyne. I’ll read through it later.” Barbrey said. Jeyne stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded.  
“No, Mrs Dustin, you don’t understand. We need to have the authorities look at this immediately.”  
“As if we haven’t had enough of them around here of late! I will read through it _later_ Jeyne. Right now I am still having to deal with the death of a student on school grounds.” Barbrey snapped irritably.  
“Well if you are too busy then I’ll take it to them myself.” Jeyne retorted. Barbrey’s hand slammed down onto the book before she could take it. “You will do no such thing.”  
“We can’t do nothing at all! Effie is in danger. We have a duty…”  
“Effie is no longer a student here at Barrowton, therefore she is no longer my responsibility, nor yours for that matter.” Barbrey informed sharply.  
“So what? We can’t just leave her with those people. With all due respect, you don’t understand. You don’t _know._ If we do nothing I fear Effie may go back to how she was, and this time there will be no one there to stop her from harming herself.” Jeyne tried to remain calm. In order to sway Barbrey she would have to remain level headed.  
“I’d say there were plenty of people that could have stopped Sansa Stark from harming herself, wouldn’t you? And yet she did so anyway. You were the one to first inspect her body were you not?”  
“Yes, but…”  
“And you found the syringe?”  
“Yes, it had the Greyjoy mark on it, but I don’t see…”  
“And you were once dating Theon Greyjoy?”  
“Yes, you know that. I told Varys everything, and he told you, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with…”  
“I gave you a chance Jeyne. You have a history of fraternising with drug dealers, yet I allowed you to take up the job of school nurse.” Barbrey said darkly.  
“What exactly are you implying?” Jeyne asked, more angry than afraid.  
“I am not implying anything. I just want to remind you that, if you dare to question my authority again, there are ways in which I can see to the termination of your time here at Barrowton.”  
“You mean you’d fire me?” Jeyne gasped.  
“Yes, but don’t worry. I know of a job elsewhere that should support you sufficiently. Mr Bolton is looking for a new maid as it happens.” Barbrey’s lips twisted into a cruel smile, one that Jeyne had never seen before. It reminded her in a way of Ramsay when he was playing a game with her. “You mean…work for Roose Bolton?” The blood drained from Jeyne’s face.  
“Yes, if you dare to question my decisions again.” Barbrey said, still smiling. Then the cruelty seemed to melt away, and Mrs Dustin picked up her pen. “Now, will there be anything else?” Mrs Dustin asked brightly. Jeyne gave the notebook one last glance before shaking her head. “Very good. Thank you for bringing this to me Jeyne. You may get back to your duties.”   
On shaking legs, Jeyne left the room, stopping at one of the toilets on the way back to her office so that she could vomit in peace.  

Clutching her bleeding hip with one hand, Effie used the other to hoist herself up the stairs. Every step was torture, though whether because of fatigue or just the pain of living, Effie could not say. Every part of her body ached and the scars stung every time the fabric of her clothes chafed against the claw marks. At the top of the first set of stairs, Effie abandoned her top and boots. At the second, her floor, she stripped down until only her underwear remained. Yet she still couldn’t rid herself of the scent of man and dog and sex. Taking a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of releasing the sobs that made her chest ache, before starting to climb the final set of stairs.  
“Ramsay.” The first cry came as a choked whisper, the screaming and begging she had just done having robbed her of her voice. “Ramsay.” She tried again, though it was only a little louder. Effie collapsed onto the top step, and pulled the hand on her hip away. The claw marks had begun to bleed again. She didn’t remain on the step for long though. Whether she knelt or sat, it made no difference, both were just as painful as each other.  
The only door on Ramsay’s floor that wasn’t open was the one leading to his bedroom, and so Effie assumed that was where he’d be.  
“Ramsay!” She called, louder this time. Once she reached the door, she knocked, out of habit. “Ramsay!” It came out as a sob. “Ramsay, ple-“  
“I’m busy!” Ramsay yelled back from beyond the door. Effie sobbed again. He had to see. He had to _know_. “Ramsay please…” She cried, opening the door, only for it to slam shut again once it was wide enough for her to fit through. From what she’d seen, it was pitch black inside. “I said I’m busy!” Ramsay roared. “Fuck off Eff!”  
Weeping hysterically now, Effie tried to cry out for him again, but her voice had gone. No one could hear her now.   


	38. Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have to cross entire oceans when  
> I want a moment of her time  
> She never wants to fall in love again  
> And every kiss would be a crime

Much to his annoyance, the front door was locked. But he was well practiced at this, and he knew the house reasonably well. There was a door in the kitchen and so that was where he headed. The smashing of glass was surely loud enough to wake the house, and so he sat down, lit a fag, and put his feet up on the table. It wasn’t like he owed Roose Bolton shit anyway. He grinned to himself when he heard footsteps on the stairs. They were light, so it was either Effie or Ramsay being stealthy.  
He remained with his back to the door, smoking his fag, and waited until he heard a floorboard creak. At the sight of Ramsay in the doorway, naked apart from boxer shorts and a baseball bat poised over his head, he began to laugh. “Jesus Christ.” Ramsay muttered, swinging the baseball bat down to his side.  
“The Pope will be disappointed.” Damon laughed, taking another pull pointedly.  
“The fuck are you playing at?” Ramsay asked, clearly annoyed. Damon spread his arms and shrugged. “Heard your dad was away so I thought I’d stop by.” Ramsay rolled his eyes. “What? You aren’t even gonna offer me a drink?” In truth, he needed a drink. He’d needed one before he’d driven here and he needed one now. Damon wasn’t sure he’d be able to face her whilst sober.  
“Fine. What do you want?” Ramsay asked, strolling over to the fridge.  
“Something stronger than beer.” Damon replied, making Ramsay recalculate his route out into the lounge to the drinks cabinet that Damon had come to know quite well. Helping himself to a saucer, Damon stubbed out his cigarette, hiding it under a newspaper as Ramsay came back in with two glasses and a half-filled bottle of Jack Daniels. “Cheers man.” Damon grinned, taking both the glass and the bottle. He filled his glass, and Ramsay’s out of courtesy, before downing his as Ramsay sat down wordlessly. After he downed his third glass, Ramsay spoke. “Why are you here Damon?”  
“Heard she was back.” Damon admitted after a moment’s pause, wiping his mouth. Ramsay just nodded and took a sip of his drink. “How is she?” He played with the glass in order to avoid Ramsay’s gaze.  
“In truth? Haven’t got a fucking clue. She came home and shut herself in her room.” Ramsay shrugged.  
“You left her alone?” Damon asked, sitting up straight.  
“She’s fine. I visited her at the school. She was right back to her normal pissy self.” Ramsay spat bitterly, downing his glass and pouring another.  
“She was never pissy.” Damon muttered quietly. After downing another glass, Ramsay snorted. “What’s it to you anyway?” Tossing the glass from one hand to the other, Damon shrugged.  
“I just wanted to make sure she’s okay.” He confessed.  
“Well she is.”  
“So things are just going to carry on as normal?” Damon asked darkly. “She just going to be made to keep fucking anyone who knocks?”  
“What’s it to you? You’re one of those people that knocks, remember?” Ramsay hissed resentfully. Biting back words, Damon didn’t look at him, refusing to let Ramsay see the guilt he felt. “I’m not here to argue with you Ramsay. I just want to see her, okay?” Pursing his lips together, Damon waited for Ramsay’s verdict. They held each other’s gazes, searching each other out, and he was sure the alcohol had turned to butterflies inside of him; sickening fluttering creatures.  
“Fine.” Ramsay consented through gritted teeth. “But don’t expect me to pull her off of you if she tries to rip your fucking head off.”  
Damon could see why Ramsay was mad at him, his sister had tried to kill herself on his watch, but at the same time he remembered the last time they had spoken. They had been standing beside the fire, burning Ramsay’s ‘porn stash’ as Effie had called it. “We fucked her up real good this time didn’t we?” He had said, staring into the flames. And Ramsay had agreed. “Yeah. We did.” He’d said.  
“Go on then. Go see her.” Ramsay snapped irritably. Slowly, Damon placed the glass back on the table, wiping his hands on his jeans and rubbing his nose before standing up and heading out of the kitchen, idly striking his thigh with his fist as he focused on climbing the stairs. The silence that met him once he reached Effie’s floor was unnerving, and he glanced down the hallway towards the bathroom, shuddering as he remember the pool of blood that still pulsed from her wrist; her body limp and lifeless, slumped against the wall. The tears that stained her cheeks beneath her dull blue eyes. Clamping his eyes shut, Damon spent a few seconds calming his breathing. The door to the bathroom was open, as was the door to her den. He headed straight towards her bedroom and knocked. Too panicked to wait for an answer, he opened the door.  
The room was dimly lit, the bedside lamp being the only source of light. Effie was sat on her bed, her back towards him, hugging her legs tight. “Eff?” He called. Swallowing anxiously, Damon watched as she raised her head slowly, and turned to look at him. Upon seeing him standing there, Effie stood up. She was wearing his shirt.  
“Look who’s out of the looney bin.” He chuckled.  
“I got thrown out. Too looney for the looney bin.” Effie replied, summoning a weak smile. Chewing his lip, Damon tried to think of what to say next. Effie beat him to it. “Shall we get on with it then?” She asked. He frowned, remaining silent as she turned away from him and began to undo his shirt. “Eff, what are you doing?” She ignored him, rolling back her shoulders so that the shirt slipped off in one smooth motion. Besides a pair of black knickers, she was naked. “Eff…” She turned around, crossing her arms over her breasts casually.  
“This is what you’re here for, isn’t it? It’s what you all come here for.” Damon’s mouth opened and closed as he searched for something to say. He was about to protest, to say that was the last thing on his mind…okay, maybe the second to last thing…but the thought was soon gone when he caught sight of blood and scarring on her hips. “Effie where are those from?” He asked, inclining his head towards them. Effie glanced down and was then torn between covering up her hips or her breasts. “That’s none of your business.” She said shakily. Taking three steps towards her, Damon took a closer look. “Are those claw marks?” His stomach lurched violently as he thought of the dogs down in the kennels. The ones that belonged to Locke. “Oh shit…what did he do to you?” Damon breathed.  
Effie was frowning at him now; her brows furrowed. Her eyes searched him warily, as though she were trying to place him.  
“Eff? Are you okay?” He didn’t like the way she was looking at him.  
“Do…do I know you?” She asked.  
He stared at her for a second. Two seconds. Three. Four.  
“What?” Damon muttered.  
“Only Ramsay calls me Eff.” Effie replied, looking him up and down and shifting her arms so that they were tighter over her breasts, concealing herself more. He didn’t understand. He hadn’t changed at all. Maybe his hair had grown a bit, but she’d know him. She’d always know him.  
“Effie, it’s me. Damon.” Her brows pulled together further, more fearful than concerned now. “Of course you know me.” He said, though now he wasn’t so sure.  
“No…no, I made you up.” Her voice was a frail, breathy whisper.  
“What?” Effie took a step away from him as he took a step towards her.  
“You aren’t real. I made you up. You…you can’t hurt me. We’ve never met…” She stammered.  
“Made me up? What the fuck are you on? I’m _Damon_.” He insisted, suddenly scared. She had that look in her eye again, only now it was worse. She was so alone there, wherever she was, and even Damon couldn’t reach her.  
“No. No. Damon’s not real. You…I’ve never met you.” Effie was adamant now.  
“Damon _is_ real. I _am_ Damon. If I’ve never met you then…how do I know that you hate horses, or that you…you…” Damon struggled to recall anything he knew about her. Perhaps he didn’t know her at all. “Look, I’m Damon.” He promised, moving towards her and not stopping until he was stood right in front of her, close enough to touch. Effie flinched away, but her back was to the wall now. “My favourite song is Ace of Spades, I’ve got a tattoo of a cross over my ribs, the only thing I loved more than my Harrington is my little brother. You _know_ me Eff. We have fucked in every sense of the word.” He went to grab her hands, but she was too quick. Effie clamped them over her ears, releasing desperate wailing sounds as she did. “No no no! You’ve never happened! I made you up! I made you up I made you up I made you up I…” She was cut off mid-chant when Damon struck her across the face, just hard enough to make her cheek go red. Effie’s eyes grew wide and fearful. “Eff…I’m sorry…I didn’t mean…” Damon stepped back as her eyes filled with anger and, to his dismay, hatred.  
“Get out.” She hissed.  
“Eff, don’t…”  
“Ramsay! RAMSAY!” Turning, Damon saw Ramsay appear at the door. Perhaps he had been there the whole time. “RAMSAY GET HIM OUT!” Effie screamed. Backing away, Damon crashed right into Ramsay, who grabbed him by the back of the neck and wordlessly began to drag him out. Damon continued to stare at the panicked Effie, who grabbed his shirt to cover herself and watched him go with fear-filled eyes. “She’s like that chick out of the ring man, what’s up with her?” Damon muttered. Ramsay said nothing until they were out of her room, where he promptly slammed him into a wall.  
“Argh, fuck, Jesus…”  
“What the fuck did you do?” Ramsay hissed, his face so close that Damon was sprayed with spittle.  
“I didn’t do nothing man! She’s fucked up in the head. You have no idea. You weren’t there! She’s _worse_ Ramsay.” Damon cried out as Ramsay slammed him against the wall again to shut him up.  
“I’ll be the judge of that, not you.” He spat viciously.  
“She’s not better at all, and you don’t even give a shit, do you?”  
“Shut the fuck up!” Ramsay growled. Pushing him off, Damon spread his arms out in challenge. “You want to hit me? Come on then! Hit me!” Grabbing his collar, Ramsay raised a fist, ready to strike. “Come on! She’s so fucked up in the head. You think that was just my fault? You think that’s all down to me? Then you’re just as fucked up as her.”  
“Don’t.” Ramsay seethed.  
“Why? What you going to do? Kill me? Hit and run again, like we did with that boy?” Damon pressed his forehead against Ramsay’s, their eyes inches from each other. Ramsay had gone red and his lips twitched in anger. “I fucked her in your bed you know.” Damon said, grinning. “Your sister. Did her good and proper in _your_ bed. Right after she told me what you did. You remember right? The night you left home? Was it good? Did you come inside her you sick fuck?” At last, Ramsay punched him. Then again and again and again.  
“Shut the fuck up!” Ramsay roared. “You have no fucking idea. No fucking idea. You don’t know. You don’t have a fucking clue.” He screamed at him with every strike. Damon didn’t even try to fight back, instead remembering Effie’s hate filled gaze, how confused she’d been. She hadn’t known him, and it had been worse than the thought of her blaming him.  
Eventually, the red mist passed and Ramsay stopped kicking and punching. He rolled him over with the tip of his foot and Damon winced at a suspect broken rib. “Get out of my house.” Ramsay ordered, his voice dangerously quiet. “And if you touch my sister again, you no-good piece of shit, I’ll skin you alive.” Damon’s only reply was an agonised groan and he coughed up a glob of blood. The last thing he saw of Ramsay was his lips twisting into a sickening smirk before he disappeared into Effie’s room.

She was beneath the covers, shaking uncontrollably. Slipping in behind her, her back against his chest, Ramsay took a deep breath; breathing her in before speaking. “He’s gone.” He told her. “He won’t come back, I promise.” Swallowing the anger he felt at just the thought of Damon’s smug grin, Ramsay slid his arms around her waist like he used to when she was a child. Effie released a choked sob, her whole body jolting with the force of it, and she rolled over to face him. “He said he was Damon. But Damon…he’s not real, is he? I just made him up. He’s just a character, right?” Her eyes moved about madly, scanning his face.  
“Of course he’s real Eff. You fancied him when you were a kid, remember?” He said, frowning. Her brows furrowed together and she sobbed again. “Why can’t I remember?” She cried. “What’s wrong with me?”  
He didn’t know, but there was definitely _something_ wrong with her.  
“I don’t know. But we’ll sort it out, okay? We’ll take you to the doctor first thing tomorrow morning.” She keened into his touch as he cupped her tear-stained cheek. Throwing back the covers, Ramsay went to get out of the bed, only to have Effie grip his wrist tightly and pull him back. “Stay with me? Please?” She begged. Ramsay smirked, glad to finally have her relying on him again. He kissed her forehead fondly, then disentangled himself from her grasp. “I can’t.” He told her, unable to refrain from smiling wickedly. “But I’ll be just upstairs if you need me.” Mussing her hair, he stood up. All thoughts of her swiftly fell aside as he headed to his own room.


	39. Doctor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normal happy childhood back on course  
> Batteries not included

She was awoken in the early hours of the morning; her brother calling her out of the depths of troubled sleep. Even in the darkness of the room, she could tell he had not slept and for a moment Effie thought he had been drinking. But she could tell by the smell of him that drink was not what he was giddy on. As Ramsay climbed into the bed beside her, forcing her around so that she was lying with her back to him like he used to when his room was cold, Effie could have sworn she could smell sex on him. She was too tired to make anything of it and quickly drifted off to sleep with his arms around her, pressing back into him to show how grateful she was for his company. When she was younger, she always had to show him how grateful she was. Otherwise Ramsay would grow angry.  
He woke her again at eight o’clock. “Morning Eff.” He murmured, kissing her forehead. Effie just groaned, sitting up in bed and clutching the duvet to cover her bare chest. Ramsay was already dressed, reclining on the bed and grinning at her. “Time to get up sleepy-head.” He chuckled. “You’ve got an appointment with Qyburn at half ten.” He told her. Effie didn’t move, suddenly frightfully aware of her nakedness. Ramsay, for once, seemed to take the hint, and stood up. “I’ll go make breakfast while you get dressed, okay?” She nodded, smiling weakly, waiting until the door was closed behind him before heading over to her wardrobe. At Barrowton, she hadn’t needed many of her own clothes, and there was a moment when she looked inside her wardrobe and wondered if the clothes really belonged to her. Everything was so short and exposing, a far cry from the uniform she was used to. She didn’t want to be provocative, and winced as a scratching sound followed by animalistic grunting filled her head.  
_I’m going to fuck you like the whore you are._  
Desperately trying to steady her breathing, Effie opted for the least provocative outfit she could find; a white shirt beneath a pinafore dress, no more than two inches above the knee, and knee high socks. She looked like a school girl, but found the uniform oddly comforting. She proceeded to scrub her face clean until her cheeks turned red before heading downstairs, following the scent of bacon. Upon passing the doorway to the lounge, she stopped, turned, and stepped inside almost warily. In front of the bay windows was a gaily decorated, white artificial Christmas tree. It stretched upwards, the golden star on top clawing at the ceiling. Its pale limbs spanned out, demanding the attention of the whole room.  
Effie hated it. It was too big. Too bright. Too happy. A cheerful sentinel, making mock of her misery.  
“Ghastly isn’t it?” Effie didn’t turn around at the sound of Ramsay’s voice, instead continuing to observe the thing with disdain. “Walda put it up and decorated it before they left. Wanted it to greet them when they get back. Doubt they’ll be back by Christmas though.” Effie did look at him then, raising an eyebrow questioningly and taking the coffee he held out for her. “Dad and Walda got married. I told you about her, remember? Walda wanted you there for the wedding but dad said you weren’t well enough yet. You’re lucky Eff. It was horrible. I had to wear a suit.” He laughed.  
After a moment, Effie laughed too. The noise was alien to her, and it sounded grating and forced.  
“They’ve gone up North for their honeymoon, though it’s more because dad’s got business up there. Don’t know when they’ll be back. If Walda had a say it would be as soon as possible now that you’re back. I think she’s a bit of a fan of yours.” Ramsay snorted.  
“Great.” Effie replied flatly, staring up at the tree.  
“Breakfast is on the table. I’ll be back down with you in a second.” Effie said nothing, remaining where she was as she listened to him climb the stairs. Tilting her head, she found herself hating the tree more and more with every second that passed.

Effie was no stranger to Dr Qyburn’s office, but she gave Ramsay a desperate look that told him she needed him there all the same. He had only gone in with her a few times when she was younger, but now she just felt as though she really needed him there. The reason for it was a mystery to her. All she knew was that he had been nice to her yesterday. He had taken the boy away and seen to it that he didn’t come back. Perhaps she feared he’d return if Ramsay left her alone.  
“Good afternoon Ramsay, Effie.” Qyburn said, smiling kindly as he let them into his office.  
“Hi Qyburn.” Ramsay replied, grinning and sitting down opposite the desk. Effie sat down beside him, saying nothing.  
“What seems to be the problem today?” Qyburn directed the question at Effie, clasping his hands together on the desk. Opening her mouth a little, Effie searched for words that refused to come, and so she turned to Ramsay with a pleading gaze. “She got back from Barrowton House yesterday. The guy that was taking care of her when she attempted to kill herself turned up, and you freaked out didn’t you Eff? She said she didn’t know who he was. When he told her, she insisted she’d made him up, and that he couldn’t hurt her.” Ramsay explained, smirking all the while.  
“Who is this boy? That she claimed not to know. Does she know him?”  
“Yes. She’s known him since she was thirteen.” Ramsay confirmed.  
“I don’t! I mean…I do, but he’s just…it’s only my imagination.” Effie cut in, twisting her hands together.  
“What do you mean by that Effie?” Qyburn asked.  
“I was given a notebook, at the school. We were told to write our stories. The people that hurt us…they aren’t real. He’s _not_ real.” She insisted. Ramsay snorted and Qyburn just nodded, as if he understood. The flesh on her fingers had turned a violent shade of purple from where they were clasped so tightly together. “I see. You seem to be experiencing some sort of confusion between what is reality and what is not.” He pulled forward a folder and they sat in silence whilst he found the page he was looking for, taking out the pair of thick-lensed glasses he kept in his jacket pocket and placing them on the end of his nose.  
Dr Qyburn wasn’t truly a doctor. Effie had worked that out by the time she was sixteen. If a normal doctor knew what Roose was doing, they would have reported it to the police. What’s more, some of his methods were unusual. Some, it could be said, were incredibly outdated whilst others seemed ahead of their time.  
“Tell me, Effie, have you had trouble sleeping lately?” Qyburn peered at her from over his glasses.  
“Sometimes.” Effie shrugged.  
“Any regular outbursts? Nervousness? Irritability?” He was taking down notes as he spoke, glancing up and taking in her movements; the subtle twitching of her foot, the tapping of her fingers on her knees.  
“I guess so.” She admitted.  
“You got pretty fucking freaked yesterday.” Ramsay added. “She was screaming at the guy and stuff.”  
“Interesting.” Qyburn put down his pen and clasped his hands together, resting his chin on them. Behind his glasses, his eyes seemed abnormally large. “I understand that she was sterilised at a young age?”  
“Yes.” Ramsay shifted in his seat uncomfortably.  
“And had she started her menstrual cycle before she was sterilised?” Ramsay glanced over at her, expecting her to answer.  
“No. I hadn’t.” Effie swallowed the bile that was blocking her throat and making it hard to breathe. Qyburn nodded, as if this explained everything. “I think what we are looking at here is a rather serious case of female hysteria. It would explain the difficulties you’ve been having lately, Effie.” He insisted.  
“What does that mean?” Ramsay asked.  
“It was thought in Ancient Greece that hysteria in women was caused by ‘wandering wombs’. Ludicrous, of course. Not Hippocrates’ best work, but the signs are all there. Women suffering from female hysteria tend to have an inclination to generally cause trouble. Symptoms also include irritability, nervousness, and regular outbursts to which your sister has already admitted to.” Effie inched forward in her seat, suddenly keen to hear the doctor out. More than anything, she wanted to stop feeling like this; so weak and helpless. She wanted to be normal again, whatever normal was.  
“I take it you have also ceased participating in sexual activities?” Qyburn picked up his pen again, his magnified eyes shining with sudden interest. Blood drained from Effie’s face and her breathing grew ragged as she recalled her latest sexual experience.  
“She used to sneak out at the school to go partying in the town.” Ramsay told the doctor before Effie could say a word.  
“And did you engage in sexual activities whilst you were out?” Qyburn was scribbling frantically.  
“No. But there’s something…”  
“Right. A lack of interest in sex is another symptom. And when was the last time you experienced a sexual orgasm Effie?” The blood returned to her cheeks as she blushed, her eyes growing wide with horror and embarrassment and she glanced quickly at her brother before reverting her eyes down into her lap, chewing her lip as the awkward silence seemed to drag on endlessly.  
“For fuck sake Eff just tell the doctor. It’s not like your sex life is some big secret.” Ramsay snapped. Continuing to bite down on her lip, Effie thought hard about the last time she had orgasmed. Nothing Locke had done was pleasurable enough to stimulate her, if anything it had been the opposite. Whilst she had been at Barrowton she had refrained from touching herself, preferring to pretend that that part of herself ever existed. In truth, she couldn’t recall.  
“Was it with Damon? You always thought he was the best.” Ramsay probed, grinning.  
“There is no Damon.” Effie hissed through gritted teeth.  
“So not for a while, I presume?” Qyburn cut in before Ramsay could provoke her any further.  
“No. I guess not. Why? What does this have to do with female hysteria?” Effie asked, suddenly growing annoyed by Qyburn’s intrusive questions.  
“Well my previous research suggests that female hysteria could also be caused by sexual frustration. A need wanting to be released, so to speak.” Effie shot Ramsay a dark look as he snorted, desperately trying to hold back his laughter.  
“So what do we do?” Her brother asked, his face red from trying not to break into hysterics.  
“There is a cure, I believe. It’s actually rather simple, and painless, I assure you.” Qyburn smiled kindly at Effie.  
“Okay then, that’s good. What is it?” Ramsay placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and rested his chin in his hand, as if he were now bored.  
“A simple matter of massaging the pelvis until it results in hysterical paroxysm.” Qyburn informed, his smile never faltering.  
“Great.” Ramsay replied brightly.  
“He means he’s going to finger me you wanker!” Effie snapped angrily. They all fell silent; Effie glaring at Ramsay, her earlier attachment to him weakening by the second as he looked from her to Qyburn. “Is that right?” He asked finally. Effie rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief, and slumped back in her chair.  
“Yes, in a manner of speaking. It wouldn’t take long and I would only require access to the clitoris.”  
“There is no fucking way I’m letting you do that.” Effie growled at him, redirecting her hate from Ramsay to the doctor. Perhaps she was just proving that he was right now, but Effie was set on not allowing this man to touch her like that. There had to be another way, there just had to!  
“Oh come on Eff, it’s not like Qyburn hasn’t seen it before. He’s inspected you loads of times!” Her head whipped round at Ramsay’s words and her brow furrowed with a concoction of anger, hurt and a painful sense of betrayal.  
“This isn’t an _inspection_ , Ramsay. He’s going to use my body against me! Do you have any idea what that would be like? How would you like it if someone pinned you down and wanked you off? And there’s nothing you can do but watch and cry with shame whilst your body reacts and betrays you.” She spat venomously.  
“Stop being so fucking dramatic.” Ramsay said, grinning and rolling his eyes, exchanging a look with Qyburn that was almost as degrading as the situation.  
“Fuck you Ramsay. There’s no way I’m doing this. Not a hope in fucking hell.” Effie turned to Qyburn. “You want to wank someone off? Do my brother seeing as he doesn’t seem to give a fuck.” With a final feral snarl thrown at Qyburn, Effie went to stand up, only for Ramsay’s hand to strike out and seize her wrist. He twisted his hand until the friction cause her flesh to burn. “Sit down.” He commanded, all amusement gone. When she disobeyed, he yanked her down by the wrist. Effie yelped in pain as her scarred hip scraped across the arm of the chair. “Listen to me right now. You are going to let Qyburn do this to you, because it is going to make you better. I would let him finger you all day if that’s what it took to stop you acting like a complete and utter mental case. Fuck it, I’d probably let him fuck you if that’s what it took. Do you think this is the worst thing that could happen to you? Do you think my father won’t think of something a hundred times worse if you aren’t normal by the time he gets back?” His face twisted into the monster from her childhood nightmares, but Effie didn’t allow her fear to stop her from wrenching her wrist out of his iron grip. “Don’t fucking touch me.” She snarled.  
“I’ll fucking touch you if I want to, because guess what little sis? You’re mine. You belong to me. Understand?” Ramsay growled back. The siblings eyed each other challengingly, like animals readying themselves for an attack.  
“Is that what you told yourself that night you drug-raped me?”  
Effie’s words sent Ramsay tumbling down into the pit of burning rage. He struck her across the face, his fist smashing into her jaw with a crunch, leaving her dizzy enough for him to be able to drag her to her unsteady feet without a fight. “You got something we can knock her out with besides my fist?” Effie’s head lolled from side to side as she slurred her protests.  
“I suppose sleeping gas wouldn’t hurt her, though it will cause violent nausea afterwards.” Qyburn’s voice was distant and Effie shook her head to try and clear away the clouds that filled her mind. _No, to be awake I must be conscious._ The words came from nowhere, but she felt they might be of use as some sort of weapon. “To…awake…must…conscious…” Was all she could manage as Ramsay hoisted her up and carried her over to the bed, slamming her down onto the sanitary paper.  
“No…NO!” She managed to bark. “NO!” Effie shrieked again, striking out with a foot. She screamed in rage as her foot struck nothing but air.  
“Enough!” Ramsay roared back. Their figures were somewhat blurred, but Ramsay was the larger of the two and it was he that forced her legs open. Effie shuddered at the feeling of Qyburn’s latex-covered fingers removing her underwear.  
“Stop! Please! You can’t do this.” Effie wailed, trying to sit up. Ramsay moved with a speed that did not match his size; forcing her feet into some sort of stirrups that wouldn’t allow her to close her legs or kick out before moving around to push her back onto the bed. When he leant his full weight over her stomach, pinning down her arms, Effie groaned in pain and began to wheeze as she struggled for breath.  
Her eyes were closed, so the feeling of a mask over her mouth and nose shocked her; forcing her to inhale sharply. The gas tasted foul, but the feeling of it filling her lungs was even fouler. She was transported back to when she tried her first fag, vague though the memory was.  
_“I can feel it…poison…in my lungs.”_  
“Yeah, you get used to that.” The voice was somehow calming, and Effie’s breathing began to slow.  
_“No regrets?”_ He asked her. Damon’s voice was the last thing she heard before everything went dark.


	40. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this love?  
> Maybe someday  
> So don'’t turn on the lights  
> I'll give you what you like

The music coming from the lounge seemed to be making the whole tower block vibrate. Effie glanced over at her glass of water on the bedside table and saw that the surface was rippling; hitting the sides and occasionally splashing up dangerously close to the edge. The noise was making it hard to focus on focus the book she was reading. It had to be the early hours of the morning now, but Effie was too nervous to even think about sleep, not that she was allowed to anyway.   
“I need you to stay up tonight.” Ramsay had instructed, shrugging into his jacket. That was all he needed to say for her to know that she should expect company later. “Until who comes?” She’d asked, desperate to know who she was supposed to be expecting. Ramsay wasn’t listening, instead picking up his third can of beer and downing it. “Jeyne! Come.” Ramsay barked. Jeyne appeared in the doorway to Ramsay’s bedroom. Make up had covered the bruises she’d been sporting earlier, but no amount of blusher could bring colour to her cheeks. “Come on babe, we don’t want to keep the guys waiting.” Ramsay’s voice was almost gentle and Jeyne obeyed instantly, bowing her head as she crossed the room. Effie could feel a muscle in her face twitch when Ramsay wrapped an arm around Jeyne’s waist and Jeyne flinched. Fortunately her brother didn’t notice.  
“We’ll be back by midnight.” Ramsay had yelled over his shoulder as they both headed out of the door. He had forgotten to make dinner, and on exploring the kitchen Effie had discovered there was no dinner to make, so she had settled for a meal of all the sweets and chocolate Mrs Hornwood had given her.  
Now here she was, sat on her bed in nothing but knickers and one of Ramsay’s old t-shirts feeling bloated and a little sick, waiting for someone to drunkenly stagger into her room. It was someone’s birthday, she knew that much, and they would be receiving a night with her as a present, though it was more like a morning now. Putting her book back onto the nightstand, Effie tilted her head back and rested it against the wall, closing her eyes as she tried to guess who it might be.  
It wouldn’t be Dick, because he would have been in here the moment they’d come home, regardless whether or not he was having a good time. Effie suspected it was because he couldn’t get it anywhere else. Skinner’s birthday had been last month, and Alyn’s was the month before that so it wouldn’t be either of them. She’d only had to do it with Ben once, and that was only because he’d been too pissed to remember that he was a married man.  
That only left Luton. Effie shuddered at the thought. Luton was a big lump of a man. None of the men particularly cared whether or not she enjoyed herself, but Luton usually hurt the most due to his size and brute strength. She was ready to throw up all the chocolate she’d eaten through sheer fear when the door to her room crashed open and a young man, a boy in truth, fell into her room. He managed to grab the door handle just in time to stop himself from falling flat on his face. A roar of laughter erupted from the room behind him. “Eager are you Posh?” Effie heard Skinner yell.  
“He should be.” Alyn added, setting off another gale of laughter. Effie stood up as the boy, still on the floor, groaned an incoherent reply.  
“Are you alright?” Effie asked shyly. He looked up at her and grinned. His smile had a goofy handsomeness to it. The rest of his face was good-looking too, and relief flooded through Effie now she knew it wouldn’t be Luton she had to please tonight.  
“Hunky-fucking-dory.” The boy chuckled, using the door handle to hoist himself up onto his feet. Effie had seen him hanging out with Ramsay a few times, but never this close and they had never actually spoken or been introduced. He’d only become part of the gang recently and couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, but he was tall for his age and his chest and arms were already developing muscle. “Well hello.” He said, his voice deep and sultry, mocking a sexy tone. His face split into a grin before he shut the door behind him. Effie blushed as he took her in properly for the first time, suddenly anxious as to what he would make of a scrawny thirteen year old in an over-sized, unwashed t-shirt. What if she had chocolate around her mouth? Dipping her head, she tried desperately to hide her face behind her dull brown hair.  
“My name’s Damon.” He said, slurring on the ‘s’ slightly.  
“I’m Effie.” She told him, then felt her face burn hotter as she realised he probably knew her name already. When she glanced up, he was still smiling that goofy, handsome smile. If he thought her stupid, he did well not to show it. “It’s my birthday.” He slurred. Effie refrained from pointing out that his birthday had actually ended hours ago. “And I’m your present.” She muttered, her initial relief wearing off when she recalled what he was here for.  
“You’re the best present I could hope for.” Damon suddenly grew quiet, as if embarrassed by what he’d said. She could have sworn his cheeks were reddening but he moved away too quickly for her to tell.   
“So how old are you?” She asked, hoping to make him feel less uncomfortable.  
“Fifteen today.” He was younger than she had first thought, and closer to her own age than anyone she’d had before.  
With the utmost care, Damon removed his coat. In the dim light she could tell that it was a rich burgundy colour and a little too big for him, but he was clearly going to grow into it.  
“I like your jacket.” She said brightly. Damon folded it up neatly and placed it on top of some plastic boxes she kept her clothes in. “Thanks!” He replied, as if he were pleased she had noticed it. “It’s a Harrington. It cost loads.”  
“Are you rich then?” Effie chewed down on her lip, wanting to hit herself for her rudeness.  
“I’m not paying for you!” Damon blurted, his eyes darting nervously towards the door.  
“No, I didn’t mean…I don’t think…” Effie bit her lip again, unsure what to say. Damon would never pay for her. He was too nice and too handsome. She was sure he could get any girl he wanted. “I’m sorry. I just assumed that with the jacket, and Skinner calling you posh…” Once again, Effie’s stomach filled with butterflies as he grinned that goofy grin at her.  
“Nah. My mum’s pretty well-off, but I’m propa street innit.” He said jokingly, flicking his wrist like guys that wore their trousers stupidly low on the estate did, and Effie laughed so hard at the impression that her stomach began to hurt.  
They had been so busy talking that she hadn’t noticed him slowly starting to undress. He now wore only his polo shirt and boxer shorts. Again, Effie regretted her binge-on-chocolate dinner as it seemed to solidify in the pit of her stomach. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she waited for him to tell her what to do. They always preferred it when she waited for them to give commands. It confused her when Damon sat down on the bed beside her, and she twisted her hands together nervously, keeping her focus on her lap. At least with her hands entwined Damon couldn’t see them trembling.  
She was even more shocked when he moved one of his hands to cover her own. Then, with his other free hand, he tucked her hair behind her ear.  
“You’re beautiful.” He muttered. Effie held her breath so that she couldn’t smell the alcohol on him, and for half a heartbeat allowed herself to believe him. When she felt the light touch of his index finger on her chin, she turned her head, her brows furrowed in confusion. No one ever started off like this. In truth, it frightened her. How was she supposed to know what he wanted? Even studying his gaze, she was still none the wiser to his desires.  
“Um…you have done this before, right?” She asked when it occurred to her that even _he_ might not know what he himself wanted.  
“Yeah.” He chuckled. Effie swallowed nervously, unsure what to do next and frustrated by her cluelessness. She had just begun to summon the courage to ask him what he wanted from her when he moved in and his lips met her own. They were only there for a second before Effie pulled away. “What…what are you doing?” She gasped, standing up and stepping away from him.  
“I thought you’d done this before?” Damon’s eyes glinted with amusement.  
“I have…I just…It’s never been like this before.” She chewed her lip and stared at her bare feet, willing herself not to cry. She was so confused, but also afraid, and embarrassed by her own bewilderment.  
“Well then…” Damon reached out and gripped her wrist firmly before pulling her towards him. “I’m going to be the best you’ve ever had.” He promised, grinning and making Effie smile shyly.  
Damon pulled her even closer until she was stood in front of him, shifting his knees apart so that she could stand closer still. Even when he was sitting, he was still only half a head shorter than her. “I’m going to kiss you again now, okay?” He asked, as though he were warning a frightened animal. Effie nodded and bowed her head to meet his lips with her own. He tasted of vodka and cigarettes, but Effie found she quite liked that, and eagerly opened her mouth to welcome his tongue.  
One of his hands remained settled on her hip whilst the other curled around the back of her neck, stroking and smoothing down her hair. The hand on her hip gradually wandered around over her back and down over her arse. Effie had learnt never to protest when someone touched her like this, but Damon was the first touch she hadn’t _wanted_ to protest against. Trusting her own instincts, she placed her hands on either side of his face. The other men all had rough stubble and unwashed faces, but Damon’s stubble was still quite soft and his skin was smooth.  
After a time, his hands moved down to the hem of her t-shirt and they reluctantly broke apart so that he could pull it off over her head, exposing her flat chest. When Effie tried to smooth her hair down, Damon pulled her hands away from her face. “No, I like it like this.” He confessed, making her smile her impish smile. Effie waited for him to kiss her again, and was somewhat disappointed when her collarbone got the attention that her lips craved. The disappointment soon dispersed, and Effie gasped when he began to suck at her pale flesh. Her hands ran through his hair with a will of their own, balling into fists in an attempt to hold him to her. Leaving a red bloom, Damon moved southwards, planting kisses until he reached her under developed breasts. Effie released a needy whine. Her body yearned for his touch so much so that she seemed to ache with the need of it. No man had ever made her feel like this before and, although the unknown was something she usually feared, Effie was enjoying herself too much to care as he licked and teased her nipple with his teeth, using his fingers to pluck at the other simultaneously.   
“Tell me what you want.” His voice was a muffled growl against her skin. Effie sighed, arching her back and continuing to run her hands through his hair, resting her cheek amongst the blonde tufts and breathing him in as he resumed to tongue and palm her breasts. “I need you to tell me what you want.” Her eyes, which had been closed so that she could focus on the intense feeling inside of her and the sensation of his skin against hers, now opened. Damon pulled away and looked up at her, waiting, their eyes meeting properly for the first time. No one had ever asked her what _she’d_ wanted before, and Effie found she needed very little time to think of an answer. “You.” Effie said, pulling him back to her breast and sighing as he moaned into her skin. “I want _you_.”  
In one fluid movement, he slid his hands down until they were resting on her hips and pulled her forwards onto him so that she was straddling him. Then he rolled her over gently, kissing her lips again so that she hardly noticed his full weight on her. Once again, he left her lips and moved southwards, past her breasts this time until his nose ran along the top of her knickers. He kissed each hip lightly, then pressed his nose into the fabric and breathed in deeply, making Effie giggle and moan. “Mm….are you wet for me Effie?” He asked, and her cheeks burned when she realised that she was, and that this feeling, pure want and lust, was nothing like she had ever felt before. It seemed to be controlling her, she realised as she watched her thighs spread instinctively so that Damon’s head was framed between her legs. He glanced up at her, grinning devilishly before sliding her underwear off with one hand. Effie whined, pining for his touch. “Do you want me to kiss you now, babe?” She couldn’t manage more than a whimper and a nod. “Of course you do.” Damon grinned.  
Fortunately, recalling that the walls were thin was the last thought that Damon was absent from, and she muffled her cries with the back of her hand, her other hand gripping the bed covers as she arched and writhed.  
Before Damon, no one had ever done this. Before Damon, she had just been a _thing_ to these men. A thing they would use for their pleasure. Little more than a sex toy.  
Damon treated her like a person. A woman. A beautiful woman, to be desired, wanted, cherished.  
Loved.  
There was an explosion inside of her, the trigger to ignite it being pushed and sucked by Damon until she had to bite down hard on the back of her hand to stifle her cries. Ecstasy filled her, followed by darkness. It were as though she were suspended; the explosion having thrown her above time and all that mattered. Effie imagined it was what dying would feel like.  
And then she was alive again. Conscious. Conscious of Damon between her legs. Conscious of her warm, naked body. Her breathing was ragged; her chest rising and falling sharply, her heart pounding frightfully fast.  
“How was that for you princess?” Damon asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
“No one’s…no one has ever done that to me before.” She breathed, staring up at the ceiling in wonder as he crawled up to lie on his side beside her.  
“You’ve never come before? Fucking hell, you haven’t lived!” He laughed.  
_No. I’ve never died._  
“So is it my turn yet?” Damon asked, shifting closer. Effie longed to linger in the moment for a little longer, but she didn’t want to appear ungrateful, and she truly did want to please him as he had her. Effie nodded and Damon grinned, sitting up and pulling his top off. “Should I get some, you know, protection? Or do you deal with that?” He wiped his nose, shifting awkwardly.  
“No. That’s all dealt with.” Effie said quietly.  
“Great!” Damon’s excitement was contagious and Effie sat up as he removed his boxers.  
“So how do you want me?” She asked, smiling her Effie smile.  
It was rare that someone wanted her on top. Usually they only wanted it when they were tired from other positions. But Damon wanted her on top so that he could watch her, and he wasn’t just lying there either. He was sat up so that their chests were touching, their eyes level, their lips clashed together hungrily apart from when Damon would pull away to growl encouragement or moan shamelessly. His hands were digging into her hips, guiding her movements. The pain only seemed to add to the pleasure. It was Effie’s turn to pull away and cry out when he slid a hand between them to stroke her clit.  
“Oh Effie.” Damon groaned, burying his face into her neck as they began to rock their hips faster. “Fuck yeah…Effie.” His voice seemed a little disjointed, and Effie faltered slightly.  
“Effie.” It was coming from somewhere outside.  
“Effie.” It was Ramsay’s voice.  
“Effie!” He was calling her.  
“No!” Effie cried out, tightening her grip on Damon. She dug her nails into his back until she was sure she would draw blood, burying her face in his neck. Damon seemed to take it as encouragement, and so thrusted up into her faster, rubbing her clit erratically. Effie could feel the heat begin to build inside her, and she began to move rock her hips even faster, chasing the orgasm like her life depended on it. If she could just reach it…if she could get there before Ramsay got her…she could just sense she would never have to open her eyes again.  
“I need to stay…just a bit longer.” She breathed. “Just a bit longer…I don’t want to go.” She was holding Damon so tight now she was sure they would merge and become one.  
“Then stay. Stay with me.” He panted.  
“I don’t want to go.” Effie sobbed. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to…”

“EFFIE!”

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up in the doctor’s bed, gasping, drenched in a cold sweat that caught the draught in the room and made her tremble uncontrollably.  
“Eff?”  
Wide eyed, she turned her head and stared at her brother’s familiar features for a moment before a wave of nausea crashed over her and she threw up into his lap.  
“Argh, fuck!” Ramsay growled, leaping up. His voice seemed distant and Effie ignored him as he proceeded to bark insults at her. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the lights as tears stung her eyes and she choked back a sob.  
“How could I forget?” She whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note that, although this is obviously a flashback, it is not necessarily exactly what happened when Damon and Effie first met, but simply a version warped by Effie's imagination. The mind plays tricks and this is a dream. I imagine Damon was probably a little more selfish because come on, I can't imagine many fifteen year old boys would have this much knowledge or consideration when offered free, mindless sex.  
> But anyway, I can't explain how hyped I was to write this chapter! I haven't written such a happy, fluffy chapter for...well...a very long time!


	41. Lazarus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dying  
> Is an art, like everything else.  
> I do it exceptionally well.
> 
> I do it so it feels like hell.  
> I do it so it feels real.

The atmosphere inside the car was as cold as the rain that beat relentlessly against the windows. With the heel of her hand, Effie created her own beat against the door. A repetitive, persistent rhythm designed to infuriate. Ramsay tried to drown it out at first by turning the radio up, but Effie only pounded the door harder.  
“Stop that.” Ramsay snapped.  
Effie sped up.  
“Eff.” He growled, more of a warning than a command. After a few more thumps, Effie complied and slumped down in the seat, propping her feet up on the dash. Ramsay said nothing, now aware that she was doing it just to provoke him. Grinning, Effie looked down at his crotch. “Wow Ramsay. Bummer. It looks like you’ve pissed yourself.” Effie snorted. Shooting her a murderous look, Ramsay pursed his lips together in a thin, grim line. He was shirtless due to the fact her vomit had meant his t-shirt was ruined. The trousers had been salvageable, but weren’t yet dry, much to Effie’s amusement.  
Clutching her stomach, she rested her head back against the headrest and groaned. “I feel like shit.” She muttered.  
“Don’t you dare puke in my car.” Ramsay growled through gritted teeth.  
It wasn’t just the sleeping gas that was making her feel so crummy though. The dream still lingered, and it was making her heart hurt.  
“What did you mean when you said ‘how could I forget?’” Ramsay’s voice was suddenly quiet and she turned to see his face had gone pale and pinched with worry.  
“I didn’t know you’d heard that.” Effie admitted, frowning at him and trying to work out why he was looking so concerned all of a sudden.  
“Well I did.” He shot back, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Now do I have to ask you a second time?” Effie remained silent for a moment, staring out of the window.  
“Damon.” She muttered. “I dreamt of Damon.” The look of worry on Ramsay’s face was quickly replaced by one of annoyance. “I need to speak to him.” Effie said quietly.  
“No. No fucking way.” Ramsay spat, shaking his head.  
“Please Ramsay. I don’t even need to see him. I know you have his number. If I could just call him…”  
“You couldn’t even remember who he was!” Ramsay cut in. His refusal was infuriating and Effie turned in her seat to glare at him.  
“It wasn’t his fault! It was the therapy.” She insisted.  
“I’m pretty sure the aim of therapy is to make you better, so maybe it’s better for you to just forget about him.” Ramsay’s lips twitched angrily.  
“Forget?” She gasped incredulously.  
“Yes.”  
“About Damon?”  
“Yes.”  
“Forget about the one person who’s actually given a shit about me? Forget about the person that has actually made me happy for once in my shitty little life? You know he was the only one of your skanky friends that I actually enjoyed myself with?”  
“No, and I don’t want to either.” Ramsay snarled, struggling to keep his focus on the road ahead.  
“Don’t be so fucking stupid. You just watched me get fingered by some pervy old man for fuck sake! Or maybe you didn’t. Maybe it sent you running to the loos for a quick wank. Me being unconscious is what you’re into, right?” Effie sneered.  
“Shut the fuck up!” Ramsay roared, keeping his eyes on the road as he shoved her head hard into the window. The taste of blood filled her mouth. “Damon’s not coming back, got it? I’ve made fucking sure of that. What do you think he’s going to do? Ride in on some fucking horse like some fucking knight?” Ramsay chuckled darkly to himself. “Who would bother to save someone like you, when they could just pay to have you whenever they wanted? Damon did. He could make you come until your insides fall out, but he’d still have to pay me for it. It would still be because _I_ said so.” He seemed to calm down a little when Effie rested her head against the glass, staring miserably into nothing. Each word stung, but they didn’t make her cry. She was done crying for Ramsay.  
“It’s you and me Eff.” Ramsay’s voice had grown quiet again. “It’s _always_ going to be you and me.”

They were only halfway home when the petrol light came on. “Fuck.” Ramsay hissed, realising that he would have to get out of the car, shirtless and with a wet crotch.  
“That’s just bad luck.” Effie said, unable to refrain from smirking. As if to rub it in, a petrol station was around the very next corner. “Fuck it. You’re going to have to fill the car up and pay. I’m not going out looking like this.” He grumbled, turning off the road.  
“Fine, but you’re going to have to give me your card and your PIN.” Effie reminded him, smiling to herself as a thought bloomed in her mind. Ramsay grudgingly obliged and sat sullenly whilst Effie filled the car up and went to pay. It wasn’t until they were back on the road again that Effie pulled out the box of cigarettes and the lighter she had bought at the petrol station. “Eff what the fuck are you doing?” Ramsay growled as the scent of smoke filled the car. “You don’t smoke!”  
“I’ve been back for two days. You just haven’t _seen_ me smoke.” Effie took a deep breath, finding the smell oddly comforting. It reminded her of Damon.  
“Put it out this minute.” Ramsay ordered.  
“Don’t you want one?” Effie asked, taking a pull and blowing smoke in his direction. Ramsay didn’t answer. In fact he didn’t say anything for a long while.  
“What are you doing Eff?” He sighed eventually. His voice sounded tired, as though she had worn him down. Effie knew there was a time when she would have felt guilty. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. Now she just didn’t care. She was glad he was being worn down, just like she had been.  
“It’s you and me Rams. It’s always going to be you and me. So I’m just trying to make our always as short as possible.” Effie said flatly, not even bothering to watch his reaction. If he had anything to say to that, he kept it to himself. Effie enjoyed the silence and closed her eyes to focus on the scent of the cigarette. It took her back to the dream, and the feeling of suspension, followed by darkness.  
“You know the French call an orgasm _le petite mort._ ” Effie said without thinking.  
“What?”   
“Le petite mort. It means the small death.”  
She almost threw up again when Ramsay slammed down on the breaks and turned the wheel, allowing the car to skid onto the hard shoulder. When the car stopped, Effie looked across at him for some sort of explanation, only to find him panting, the look on his face one of shock and…was that _fear?_  
“How did you remember…where did you learn that?” He gasped.  
“I don’t know, it just sort of came to me.” Effie shrugged, her breathing still unsteady. Ramsay studied her for a long while, searching for the slightest hint of a lie. “Never, _ever_ say that again. I don’t even want you to think about it, understand?” He roared, making Effie flinch away. She could have used it against him. She could have made jokes about it. But his sudden outburst frightened her, and her head ached from where he had pushed her into the window earlier.  
“I understand.” Effie muttered quietly. Ramsay’s gaze lingered on her for a bit longer, concern making his face crease. He almost looked in pain. Then he turned away, and they continued on in cold silence for the rest of the journey.

Once home, Effie wasted no time leaping from the car and rushing inside, not wanting to chance Locke seeing her. Ramsay also seemed to be in a hurry to get inside, and disappeared upstairs the moment the door was unlocked. Watching him go, Effie tilted her head and wondered what exactly was waiting for him up there. Locke had said her brother had his own bitch to play with now. It had been a long time since her brother had had a girlfriend, in fact Myranda was the last one Effie could recall. Well that was just fine. Ramsay could keep on adding to his selection of toys. It meant he would focus less on her.   
Wishing to get away from him for a bit, she wandered into the lounge, forgetting that the Christmas tree was waiting to mock her. Once again, she stopped and stared at it for a little while. It still irked her, making her skin itch as its cheerfulness crawled underneath it. Suddenly feeling hot and grubby, Effie pulled her pinafore dress off over her head, allowing the lighter and cigarettes to fall from her pockets and clatter to the ground. It were almost as if she could feel Qyburn’s hands on her again, and so she unbuttoned the shirt and pulled off her socks until she was stood in nothing but her underwear. She left her clothes on the floor but picked up the cigarettes and the lighter, and moved towards the tree with determination in her eyes. “If I don’t get to be happy, you don’t either.” She muttered to the snow white branches. Yanking off a bauble, Effie sat down cross-legged, and hung it from a finger. Effie smiled her Effie smile and held the lighter beneath the pink ball, watching intently as the plastic began to warp and furl into something ugly and twisted. The pink casing giving away to blackened insides.  
Effie sat there, burning through Christmas ornaments and placing them back onto the tree until she heard Ramsay calling her name. Blowing out the burning plastic, Effie stood up and headed to the kitchen where Ramsay’s voice was coming from, still dressed in just her underwear. “What do you want for dinner? I’m ordering takeaway.” He said, not looking up when she came in.  
“Don’t mind.” Effie shrugged, filling up a glass of water. The fumes of burning plastic had made her throat dry. “I fancy pizza.” Ramsay announced, dialling the number.  
“Make sure you order three.” Effie muttered casually.  
“You hungry then?” Her brother chuckled, sitting down at the table and pressing the phone to his ear.  
“Can’t just let your girlfriend starve. She won’t last long if you do. Then what will you have to play with?” Effie’s voice was flat and empty despite her bitter words. At that moment, the pizza place answered and so Ramsay didn’t scold her. He only ordered two pizzas, then stood up and moved over to where she stood; staring out of the window. Sliding his hands around her waist and resting his chin on her shoulder, Ramsay pulled her back towards him, ignoring her when she tried to free herself. “What makes you think it’s a girl?” He chuckled. Before she could turn around to investigate further, Ramsay was gone.

The pizza arrived fifteen minutes later, and Ramsay reappeared again to pay and bring the pizza boxes into the kitchen. “Make sure you get an early night. You’re working tomorrow.” He told her. Effie didn’t even bother to ask who her client would be, and waited until Ramsay was upstairs before picking up the pizza box and emptying its contents into the bin.


	42. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She's too scared to get close to anyone  
> because everyone who promised they would stay,  
> turned their backs and walked away"

Ramsay did not noticed that his sister had stopped eating. The weeks passed by, and Effie perhaps managed a snack a day, but that was all. It came strangely easily. Perhaps the fact that she had no desire left for life extinguished her need for hunger, or that she mistook her stomach’s cries for food to be her body’s need for death. So Effie did not eat. She rarely slept, rarely showered, rarely showed any interest in anything.   
Men came almost every day to collect their payment, and they were all like Locke, or worse. They hurt her on purpose, though each time it seemed to hurt less and less. They tried to humiliate her, and Effie pretended that it worked for their sake. It never worked. In order to feel humiliated, you had to care. And care was something Effie no longer understood.   
None of them could please her. None of them could satisfy her. None of them gave her the small death she craved, and so after every client she would go into the bathroom and take out the pencil sharpener she kept in her make up bag. The blade slid out easily now. For each client, she cut herself. Not deep. There was comfort enough in knowing that if she went deeper, death would come and take her for good. She knew it would be a less painful way to die than starving herself, but she did not crave a painless death. Effie wanted to feel it, and the voices in her head told her she deserved it. They screamed less now. They were appeased by how she gave in to them a little more each day.  
Each week, Effie grew weaker. A frail wraith moving from the bedroom to the den, to the bathroom occasionally, and to the lounge where she continued to destroy the tree bit by bit. Ramsay didn’t notice the destruction of it, and so there was no one to stop her. She spent her time either in there or in her den. When there was no client to deal with, she stayed away from her bedroom. The wardrobe was in her bedroom, so Effie remained in items of underwear she could grab after every appointment. They exposed her flesh to anyone who saw her, but not one of the clients made a comment. They left their own scars. Even Locke didn’t seem to notice she was fading. He made use of her too, as he had promised to do. It wasn’t quite as brutal as his first time had been, but Effie still came away bruised and weeping afterwards.  
After one particularly tiresome appointment with Locke, Effie was unable to even move from her bed apart from to pull on a pair of knickers to hide the blood that made her stomach churn sickeningly. Due to Ramsay being so close, Locke always had her put music on loud so that her brother wouldn’t hear them. It still blasted from her iPod dock and Effie’s head was pounding. She was able to do little more than sit up and hug her legs though, and so turning it off was out of the question.  
She did not know how long she had been sitting there for before she got the awful sensation that she was being watched. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end and Effie leapt to her feet, covering her breasts when she spotted a stranger stood in the room. That couldn’t be right. Her next client wasn’t expected until tonight. The boy seemed just as shocked by the sight of her as she did him. There was something frightfully familiar about that scared-rabbit look, and it took Effie a moment to realise that he wasn’t a stranger at all.  
“Podrick?” She gasped, remembering the boy she had been sat next to in her history lessons. He had said nothing to her, too embarrassed to speak, but she had learnt his name by looking at the front of his notebook.  
“Um…hi…” He stammered awkwardly. It was at that moment that Effie recalled she was naked apart from some lacy, bloodied knickers. “Podrick, what the fuck?” She cried, shutting off the music.  
“I…I…”  
“What the fuck?!” Effie snapped, suddenly angry at his pale, terrified face.   
“I’m sorry…I’m so…so sorry.” He muttered over and over again, covering his eyes with his hands.  
“Throw me my t-shirt, you fucking hopeless perv.” She spat venomously. Scrambling around desperately in the hunt for something to cover her, Podrick eventually found Damon’s old shirt and threw it her way before turning his back on her, allowing her a moment to cover herself. Effie made sure to roll down the arms of the shirt so that she could cover her scars.   
“I’m sorry…I just…the front door was open and I thought…I thought that was just…I should just come in, but no one was around…and so I…the music…I thought to just follow the music and then I…your room…I got the wrong room.” His tongue was tripping all over the place and Effie’s fatigued mind desperately tried to keep up and make sense of it all.  
“Are you going to give me some kind of fucked up hint what you’re talking about?” She asked bitterly. Podrick’s mouth opened and closed as he searched for words. “Shit. Shit shit shit. Bollocky twat-faced fuck!” He yelled, smacking his own face.  
“Podrick!” Effie cut in, stopping his hand mid-strike. Slumping a little, Podrick pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “I could have sworn this was the right address. Mr Lannister wrote it down himself!” He said, studying the scrap of paper.  
“You work for Mr Lannister?” Effie’s voice was quiet now.  
“Tyrion? Yeah. See this _is_ the address he gave me. I hope he hasn’t pulled a prank on me again.” Podrick’s face was red with embarrassment now.  
“What has Tyrion sent you for?” She asked, her voice a fragile whisper. He looked up at her, but only for a moment before staring down at his feet. “Um, you know…just work stuff…”  
“He sent you to collect payment, didn’t he?” Effie’s own gaze moved towards her own feet now.  
“Yes…sort of…he gave me the wrong address…sorry…I’m so sorry…” Podrick said, wincing and slowly backing out of the room.  
“Podrick, wait.”  
“Sorry…I’m really sorry…”  
“Podrick!” The yelling left her breathless this time, but Podrick did finally stop. Effie took a few deep breaths before raising her eyes to meet his questioning gaze. “You have the right address.” She told him coldly.  
“No, Effie, you don’t understand…”  
“No, _you_ don’t understand.” She growled, irritated by his confusion. When the realisation hit him, Podrick’s eyes grew wide with shock. “Oh… _oh_ …” Effie just nodded.  
“Oh…shit…oh god, oh god, oh god…I didn’t know…sorry…I didn’t realise. I’m so stupid! Stupid fucking hopeless freak. Idiot, weirdo, absolutely fucking useless.” The words were streaming one after another and Podrick resumed hitting his own head again.  
“Podrick, stop it!” Effie’s eyes drooped a little. His nervous energy was tiresome, but he stopped hitting himself and turned to look at her shyly. “Please, can you just say something that isn’t insulting to yourself?” Effie pleaded irritably.  
“Right…sorry…um…” Podrick looked deep in thought for a moment, and flinched before he answered with “I usually drink tea when I get locked-on.”

That was how they ended up in the kitchen five minutes later. Effie hadn’t ventured into the kitchen for some time, and so Ramsay’s mess had built up until there was barely a place to put a mug of tea on the table. Effie made room though. Podrick took it with extra milk and two sugars. In truth, it was basically just sweetened warm milk.   
Effie smoked a fag while he drank.  
“I didn’t know you smoked.” Podrick admitted.  
“You’re learning lots of things about me today aren’t you?” To say this meeting was awkward was an understatement. Effie sensed he wasn’t the sort of person that started a conversation, and yet she felt no urge to do so herself. It had been he that walked into her room, after all. Podrick drank noisily from his mug, though whether that was how he drank or whether he just really wanted to fill the silence, Effie couldn’t say.  
“So…how have you been?” He asked eventually.  
“Fine. Just breathing. What about you?” Podrick chuckled awkwardly, unsure whether he was supposed to laugh or not. Effie offered no reaction to reassure him.  
“Not much. Just college, you know.” He shrugged. When he drank again, Effie took a pull. She glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Aren’t you booked in for eight o’clock?” She asked him.  
“Um…yes…why?”  
“It’s only four.” Effie told him. Podrick also turned to look at the clock, and blushed a deep scarlet. Effie grinned. “Looking forward to it were we?”  
“Better late than never, my mum says.” He tittered nervously.  
“I’d prefer never, truth be told.” Effie muttered. “Don’t take it personally.” She added upon seeing his wounded look. Podrick drank again, long and deep. She was sure it was burning his tongue. “So…locked on, huh?”  
“Yeah…my mum sends me to the doctor, for my anxiety. They gave me these new pills. Doesn’t seem to be doing much good though.” He admitted, taking the pills out of his pocket and studying the label.  
“Cool. Let’s take some now. Get off our faces.” Effie snatched the pills away from him, making the boy flinch back.  
“P…please give them b…back Effie. I don’t think it’s a good idea.” Podrick shook his head frantically.  
“Why not?”  
“They make you tell the truth too, allegedly.” He confessed, reaching out for the box of pills, only for Effie to hold them out of reach.  
“What’s wrong with that?” She asked, with a small smile and an arched eyebrow.  
“Dunno.” He shrugged.  
“Come on Podrick, don’t be pathetic. Tell me something true.” Effie ordered, stumping out her cigarette. Hooking one leg up, she leaned forward intently. She had forgotten what it could be like to have a normal conversation with someone. “Are you a virgin?” Effie asked. Podrick just nodded. “Gestures don’t count as telling, Pod.” She scolded.  
“Right…sorry.” He muttered with a nervous smile.  
“Have you ever kissed a girl?” For a moment, it looked like Pod would be able to answer, but instead he just shook his head, earning himself a bored, disapproving look. “Fine. My turn then. I’ll tell you a truth, if you can bear to hear it?”  
“Um…okay?” Podrick followed suit as she leaned in a little further.  
“My first kiss was with one of my mum’s boyfriend’s when I was eight.” Effie slumped back, as though it were anti-climactic. Pod’s eyes turned as wide as saucers. “My mum and he had been out drinking. I woke up needing a drink, only my brother had drunk all the water, so I snuck out to the kitchen to get some more. He was on the sofa smoking weed, my mum was passed out in the bedroom. He ignored me when I first walked past. Perhaps he didn’t even notice me through the drug haze. It was when I came back, holding the cup with both hands so I wouldn’t spill it, that he called me over. ‘Hey baby, come here’ He called. I didn’t think anything of that. I was a baby, I supposed. Anyway, I knew what happens when you deny a drunk man something so I went over to him. He pulled me onto his knee, and pinched me when I protested because the water was spilling out of the cup. ‘Kiss me’ He ordered. That was it. That and his hand forcing my head around. He got his tongue into my mouth before I panicked and dropped the glass. When he let go of me I screamed for my brother. He was eleven at the time, but he tried to beat the guy to a pulp anyway. The glass had shattered on the floor, so he picked up a shard and stabbed the guy in the face with it before dragging me back to our room. He stood guard all night, armed with a baseball bat too heavy for him to even lift.” Effie’s eyes had wandered away from Podrick’s features, her focus far away as she recalled the memory. Then she snapped out of it, and turned to look at Pod again. “So there you have my truth. Now I want one of yours.” Effie demanded.  
“I don’t know…”  
“Just tell me something true.”  
Podrick clamped his eyes shut, as though he were searching his mind desperately.  
“Tell me.”  
Again, nothing.  
“Tell me _now_.”  
“I love you.” Podrick admitted, panting a little, his eyes wide and panicked. “I’ve loved you since you were fourteen, and you moved to my school. I remember everyone staring at you when you walked through the gates in new Doc Martins, with heavy eye make-up and your skirt rolled up shorter than any other girl’s, and you just walked right in through the crowd like you owned the place and didn’t give a shit.” Effie stared at him as his face turned red again. She smiled at him, a small, tired smile. Things had seemed so much simpler back then. She wanted to thank him for reminding her that there had been a time when things were better, and when she had actually been happy and _grateful_ for her life, because even though what had been done was awful, revelling in it had seemed so much better than _this._  
She wanted to thank him.  
But she couldn’t.  
“Well everybody loves me. With the exception of the people who actually _know_ me. They don’t love me so good.” Effie shrugged miserably, toying idly with her lighter.  
“Why not?”  
“Because I’m either a) not letting them fuck up my life in peace any more, or b) I’ve fucked up their life so badly they wish that I never existed at all.” She shrugged.  
“It’s because you’re beautiful.” Podrick blurted. Effie glanced up at him quizzically. “Beautiful people can destroy things in the most beautiful way possible, so you never even notice it’s gone until the ground falls away beneath you.” He said miserably.  
“It’s not just beautiful people Pod.” He glanced up at her. “It’s just…people. We arrive. We take what we want. Then we leave.”  
“Sounds bad.” Podrick tried to laugh again.  
“We’re well bad Pod. That’s why I’m officially off the rails. You should try it.” She grinned, offering him a cigarette.  
“No…no thank you…I can’t. My mum…she needs me to be okay…and Mr Lannister…he _relies_ on me.”  
“Is that why you take all the pills?” She asked, looking longingly at the box she’d placed on the table. Podrick just nodded. They both sat there in silence for a moment, staring at the pills.  
“Please stop destroying yourself Effie.” He’d said it so quietly that Effie was almost certain she’d imagined him speaking the words, but when she met his gaze, she saw an unmistakeable pleading in his eyes. Effie considered it for a moment, and then looked away. “I can’t do that Pod.” She confessed quietly.  
“Why not?” He asked, his voice suddenly firm.  
“Because it’s the only thing I’m good at.” Effie shrugged. Podrick shook his head. “That’s not true. You’re good at making people fall in love with you. You’re good at making girls want to _be_ you…”  
“You think?” Effie looked around pointedly at the cluttered kitchen. “You think if all the girls at college knew about this they’d want to be me?” Podrick followed her gaze and chewed his lip, settling back into silence for a second.  
“You’re pretty good at history.” He shrugged. That made Effie laugh. It was so simple. So sweet. So innocent. He had chosen history, settled for it, in a desperate attempt to get her to live again. Podrick was also laughing until they both seemed to remember why and they fell quiet again.  
“If you come back to college, I could help you? You’ve missed some stuff about the Angevin Dynasty, but I could help you catch up.” He said with earnest.  
“Thanks Podrick. If I’m not dead by then, you can help me study.” Effie chuckled, lighting another cigarette.  
“Can you stay alive then? Please?”   
“ _Stay_ alive? I’m not alive now Pod. I’m just breathing.” Effie told him, watching her cigarette burn.  
“Oh…okay. Well then, just…live? Again? Please?” He stood up abruptly and Effie looked up at him, frowning.  
“Are you leaving?”  
“I…yes…sorry…” He stammered, turning away from her.  
“Don’t you want to fuck me first?” Effie also stood up, her legs shaking. Podrick turned around, with red in his cheeks and sadness in his eyes. “I’ve dreamt of making love to you every day since the day I first saw you…and twice on birthdays. But I couldn’t…not like this…it wouldn’t be right.” Podrick looked at his feet and shuffled from foot to foot nervously.  
“Oh…wow…” Effie breathed. “Was I any good?” Podrick just smiled. He was cute when he smiled. “See you Effie.”  
“Bye Podrick.” She said as he turned away.  
“Bye.” He called over his shoulder.  
“Thanks for loving me!” She yelled when he reached the front door, seeing himself out as he’d seen himself in.  
“No problem!” He replied without a moment’s pause.   
Effie listened as his footsteps drew further and further away until she was left in silence. Glancing over at the cupboard, she contemplated eating for a moment. But only for a moment. “Fuck it.” She muttered, standing and grabbing her lighter before heading back into the lounge to burn some more Christmas decorations. However, as she sat in her usual spot, watching the burning plastic twist and writhe in agony, drinking in the fumes, Effie couldn’t help the smile that played on her lips as she recalled every moment of her meeting with Podrick.  
It had been a long time since someone had made her smile.


	43. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All she ever wants   
> Is to never feel again  
> Because every time she feels  
> All she feels is pain

She was surprised when she was awoken the next day by Ramsay’s rasping tones and opened her eyes to find his face only inches away from hers. “Man, you look like shit.” He giggled. Effie frowned disapprovingly and groaned in irritation, shoving him off weakly but keeping her hands under the blanket. “Why are you sleeping in your den?” He asked, moving away to sit on the edge of the sofa.  
“Ever heard the saying ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” Effie mumbled.  
Upon closer inspection, Ramsay didn’t look that good himself. He was buzzing for sure, but it wasn’t a healthy kind of energy. It was more of a substance fuelled spark; as if his veins were filled with red bull. His eyes were bloodshot, his face ghastly pale except for the deep shadows beneath his eyes.  
“You don’t look so good yourself.” Effie muttered bitterly. He reeked of sex, sweat, and…was that blood? Somehow that didn’t surprise her. Even with Myranda, Ramsay had usually emerged from the bedroom covered in both his own and his partner’s blood. With Jeyne, it had always been more her blood than his own. Effie shuddered at the memory. The thought of Jeyne sickened her, and she was filled with an awful sense of betrayal and abandonment.  
“What are you doing here Ramsay?” Effie snapped wearily remaining under the blanket so he wouldn’t see how thin she’d become or the scars on her arms.  
“Came to wake you up. You have an appointment.” Effie’s heart began to race, and the sound of it beating made her head pound. She was still too tired to voice her panic. “Appointment for what?” She asked, her voice barely higher than a whisper. Pursing his lips together and avoiding her gaze, Ramsay leant forward and began to toy with her hair. The silence stretched on and on and her heartbeat quickened with every second. “Getting your hair done silly.” He said, tugging on some limp strands.  
“What?” Effie closed her eyes, already tired of Ramsay’s buzzing presence. “What the fuck are you on about?”  
“Argh just get dressed will you Eff? I’ll go make us some breakfast yeah? I’m starving.” He bounded out of the room without waiting for her to get up. Throwing back the blanket, Effie stood up slowly, her legs shaking violently as she made her way into her bedroom. In order to get in and out as soon as possible, Effie grabbed the first items of clothing she came across before retreating back to the den. The scent in her own bedroom made her feel sick, but her stomach was so empty now that there was nothing to throw up. Dressing in tights and a shirt dress that was long enough to cover her arms, Effie stared long and hard at herself in the mirror, shocked at how thin her legs looked. Her face looked gaunt and sickly and the t-shirt dress drowned her. Taking a moment to pray Ramsay wouldn’t notice, Effie headed downstairs and into the kitchen, to be welcomed only by the clashing of pots and Ramsay’s ceaseless cussing. “We haven’t even got a slice of fucking bread in!” He snapped, dashing from cupboard to cupboard. Effie watched from the doorway in silence. “Christ, what do we even eat?” He muttered to himself. Rolling her eyes, Effie remained where she stood. “You’ve been ordering take away meals for the past three weeks.” She told him.  
“Three weeks? Really?” Pursing her lips, Effie nodded. “Shit. Well I’ll buy some food while you’re getting your hair done.”  
“Why am I suddenly now going to the hairdressers and why are you pushing me to go?” Effie asked flatly, narrowing her eyes.  
“It’s for a client Eff. He has a…fetish.” Ramsay glanced over at her, grinning.  
“He’s not into gingers is he?” It was supposed to be a joke but she failed to inject any humour into it. To her horror, Ramsay just smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Oh shit, it is!” She exclaimed, the effort making her head pound. Closing her eyes, Effie tried to see herself with red hair. The attempt proved pointless when Sansa’s face came to her mind instead of her own, and for a moment Effie thought she could feel tears stinging her eyes. “I don’t want to have my hair dyed.” She muttered bitterly.  
“Doesn’t matter what you want though, does it?” Ramsay abandoned his quest for food, his earlier cheerfulness gone as he glowered at her, pushing her out of the way as he left the room. “Come on then!” He barked. Trying her best not to hurry and to avoid looking like she was obeying his orders like some dog, Effie shuffled after him.   
Still moving with that substance fuelled energy, her brother rushed outside, leapt into the car, and started the engine before Effie was even out of the door. Before she stepped off the porch, she glanced to her right, towards the track that led down to Locke’s garage. Her stomach twisted sickeningly when she saw Locke wheeling a wheelbarrow up the track. Before she could disappear back inside, he saw her and his lips stretched into a wicked smile. “Off out are you?” He called. Effie tried her best to blank him and hurried over to Ramsay’s car. “Well I’ll see you when you get back then, eh Effie?” She glanced over at him once, suppressing a shudder, before climbing into the car and lighting a fag the moment her seatbelt was on. “Do you always have to smoke inside my car?” Ramsay growled. Ignoring him, Effie exhaled and checked that her sleeves were still covering her arms. “What did Locke say?”   
“That he was going to fuck me later.” Effie replied, rubbing her eyes wearily.  
“Ha. Funny.” Her brother spat back. Rolling her eyes, Effie rested her head against the window and resigned herself to her red-headed fate.

The hairdresser was nice enough. Gay as a window, but Effie had no issue with that, in fact it seemed to prove beneficial seeing as the hairdresser’s camp demeanour practically drove Ramsay from the shop. Effie couldn’t help but grin as he awkwardly gave orders, then muttered his excuses sourly. It also confused her seeing as he himself was into men now. The hairdresser, whose name was Satin, didn’t say anything but watched Ramsay go, his face creasing with annoyance.  
“Don’t worry. He’s not as macho as he appears. Hasn’t had a girlfriend for four years. And he keeps a male sex slave locked upstairs too.” That returned the smile to Satin’s face and he never ceased talking to her since. Apparently he had been a ‘fan’ of hers. “I was so sorry to hear what happened to you.” He gushed sympathetically.  
“Well I’m better now. I’m totally better.” She lied.  
“Yes, but can I ask something? I’m not going to sell it to the papers or anything, I’m just curious.” Effie stared at the girl staring back at her in the mirror.  
“Go on then.” She smiled weakly.  
“Who was that guy with you in those pictures?”  
“What pictures?” Effie frowned.  
“The ones taken the day you…” His voice trailed off and he stopped working on her hair for a moment, though Effie suspected his hands were too shaky to be trusted with cutting hair.  
“Tried to kill myself?” Effie finished for him, smiling understandingly.  
“Yes. He was kind of…rough-looking.” Satin shrugged, returning back to his work.  
“He was an old friend.” Effie smiled to herself.  
“An old boyfriend?” Satin winked cheekily at her and Effie laughed weakly.  
“I’m not that sure really.” Effie confessed. It was true that she didn’t know exactly what it was she and Damon were…had been. Boyfriends didn’t pay to sleep with you, but from what she remembered, he had been as good as that day. They had held hands, and it must have been him that found her and called the ambulance. Had he held her until the paramedics had arrived? Had he wept? Had he cried because he thought he might lose her, or because he feared what Ramsay and Roose might do? Had the paramedics had to hold him back as they took her away in the ambulance? Or had he been allowed in with her?  
Effie continued to try and recall every moment she and Damon had spent together as Satin prattled on, oblivious to her thoughtful silence.

“It looks shit.” Effie muttered, looking away from her reflection in the wing mirror and over at Ramsay.  
“I think it’s fine.” He shrugged, not taking his eyes off the road.  
“No. It’s shit.” She insisted, running her fingers through the silken red strands and looking at her reflection again in the vain hope there would be some improvement. As she had suspected, she didn’t suit being a red head. “I don’t even look like me.”  
“Good, because you aren’t looking too great these days.” Ramsay’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.  
“Oh yeah? When was the last time you even showered? You fucking reek.” Effie spat back, annoyed when Ramsay’s smile only seemed to stretch wider. “So who is it I’m fucking tonight then? Will he want to hit me or bite me? Or both?” Effie asked, her tone casual.  
“What?” Ramsay’s smile fell away.  
“That’s my new thing right? I just want to prepare myself. Not mentally, of course, there’s no point trying to fix what’s already broken.” Ramsay rolled his eyes and refused to look at her. Surprisingly, Effie found herself no longer caring about her brother’s ongoing denial. Whether he knew the full extent of what Roose’s clients did to her she could not tell. Effie suspected he wouldn’t do anything even if he did know.  
“His name’s Petyr Baelish. Mr Baelish to you, obviously. Kind of small but minted as fuck. Some people call him Littlefinger, but don’t call him that to his face.” Ramsay told her with a tone that promised punishment if she did.  
“Littlefinger. Great. I sincerely hope he just has little fingers and it isn’t referring to another part of him.” Effie scoffed, smirking. “So if he’s minted as fuck, why is he working for Mr Bolton?”  
“Business reasons.” Her brother shrugged, his mouth set in a grim, unyielding line.  
“Okay…what business reasons?” Effie probed, relishing Ramsay’s discomfort.   
“Reasons that aren’t your fucking concern okay? Just spread your legs for him that’s all you have to worry about.” He snapped angrily, his face turning red.  
“Your willingness to rent out my cunt is truly heart-warming bro. Nothing like six years of pimping your sister out to show her how much you care.” Effie’s tone was still joking, and she clasped a hand over her heart. For half a heartbeat, she thought Ramsay would slam on the breaks again, but he didn’t bother stopping. Taking one hand off of the steering wheel, Ramsay reached over and wrapped it around the back of her neck, making Effie writhe and contort to try and escape his grasp. “Say shit like that again and I’ll smash your head against the fucking window so hard there’ll be a dent in your skull.” He growled menacingly, not even looking at her. For a time, Effie was torn. She was starving herself, cutting herself, destroying herself. Surely being hurt by her brother should thrill her? She should be begging him to do it.  
But with his hand curled around the back of her neck, her courage fled. She just wanted him to let go. He didn’t deserve to hurt her.   
“I’m sorry.” Effie said weakly, the words leaving a sour taste in her mouth. Sighing, Ramsay released her with a light shove. Then, perhaps as a form of consolidation, he patted her knee affectionately. Effie wanted to tell him she wasn’t some dog to be petted, but she didn’t want him to threaten her again and so remained silent.

Once again, Ramsay was out of the car the moment the engine cut out. Effie was too tired, and too weak to keep up with him. By the time Ramsay was inside, she glimpsed movement in her peripheral vision, and turned to see Locke grinning at her. Closing her eyes, Effie turned away and listened to the man’s footsteps as they crunched across the gravel. “You look tired.” He growled in her ear, wrapping a gnarled hand around her arm. Effie winced as the fingers dug into her pale flesh. “Don’t worry, I’ll take you up to bed yeah? I can even tuck you in when I’ve finished.” Locke’s grating chuckle made her shudder and she whimpered as he pushed her inside. His grip slackened slightly, yet Effie knew it was no chance for her to escape. She continued on upstairs with Locke on her tail, unable to cry. The days’ events already had drained her and so all her focus was on putting one foot in front of the other. Fortunately that meant she couldn’t hear the vile things Locke was saying, and what he promised to do to her. Her eyelids were leaden as they neared her bedroom, and Locke placed a hand on her back to propel her forward. It confused her when the pressure on her back lightened, and then ceased altogether the moment they were inside her room. Effie glanced behind her to see that Locke’s focus was drawn beyond her, and into the dark interior that stank of sex and sweat and blood.  
“I’m pretty sure your work here doesn’t finish until half four. Or am I to call father and tell him you’ve been slacking?” Peering into the darkness, Effie spotted a tall, slim figure stood in the middle of the room.  
“You could, but we might be done by the time you’ve finished explaining what the fuck you’re doing back here.” Locke rasped venomously, angry that he was being deprived.  
“You won’t be doing anything. Not with her at least. I’m sure there’s a hedgerow that needs trimming somewhere.” The man’s voice was commanding and full of authority, but it wasn’t cold like Roose’s was, nor cruel like Ramsay’s. In the dark room, Effie could only make out dark hair, pale skin, and paler eyes. It still gave her no clue as to who this stranger was. “Off you go.” He urged Locke. The repulsive man growled something that even Effie couldn’t hear, groped her arse, then turned and left, still cursing under his breath.   
She could sense the stranger watching her, trying to make sense of her in the gloom. They both stood in silence, waiting for her inspection to be over. “You must be Effie.” The stranger said, moving forward. The door behind her was still open and was the only thing allowing light into the room. As he moved closer she was able to see his features clearly for the first time. He couldn’t have been any older than Ramsay, but somehow he looked wiser. His eyes were weary and solemn; as if he had seen too much. His hair was black and thick, though cropped short. He had Roose’s eyes, but they didn’t send chills through her and he even managed a smile, though his mouth seemed to have been trained not to.  
“I’m Domeric, your brother.”


	44. Brother

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a while you learn  
> The subtle difference between   
> Holding a hand and chaining a soul  
> And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning  
> And company doesn't always mean security

Remaining silent for a long while, Effie tried to come up with something to say.  
“That sounded a lot better in my head.” He chuckled, running a hand nervously through his cropped black curls.  
“I’ve got a brother. One’s enough, but thanks.” Effie’s tone was more bitter than she had intended, but there was a voice of reason speaking in her head, warning her that this man was Roose’s son, and that he was a complete stranger to her.  
“Yes, I’ve heard. Ramsay, isn’t it?” Slowly backing out of the room, Effie nodded. “I heard him come up, I think, but he was in such a hurry I didn’t get a chance to speak with him.” Domeric confessed.   
“I’m guessing you want to? Maybe to explain who the fuck you are and how Mr Bolton managed to keep you hidden for the past four years?” Effie said dryly. Confusion swept across Domeric’s face like a storm cloud. “So he’s never mentioned me?” He asked, clearly aggrieved by how his father had denied his existence for the past four years.  
“Not within my hearing.” Effie shrugged carelessly. What was it to her if Roose Bolton had another son? Father’s weren’t exactly her forte seeing as she was most definitely an accident, and a hated one at that.  
“He might have mentioned you to Ramsay.” She added.  
“Suppose I’d better find out then.” Domeric sighed, swallowing nervously. His eyes moved from her to beyond the door.  
“What? Now?” Effie asked.  
“No time like the present.”  
“He hardly comes out of his room.” Effie told him bitterly. “Even if I were being raped by dogs, he wouldn’t come out.”  
“That’s an interesting choice of example.” Domeric scoffed. Raising an eyebrow, Effie turned away from him and headed out of the room and up the stairs. “Are you coming or what?” She yelled back to him when she noticed he wasn’t following her. Domeric smoothed his hand through his hair again and straightened himself up a little. His clothing was shabby, like it was all bought from charity shops, but he still managed to look smart in it. He just _looked_ like the son of a rich person, something Ramsay could never achieve no matter what suit he wore or however many times he showered. Effie didn’t bother waiting for him when she reached the top of the stairs, instead heading straight for Ramsay’s room and knocking politely on the door.  
“Fuck off. I’m busy.” He replied.  
“Ramsay, it’s Effie.” She continued, almost brightly. She was quite looking forward to seeing how this played out.  
“What do you want Eff? I’m kind of in the middle of something.” Ramsay growled.  
“Being in the middle of your boyfriend’s butt cheeks can wait, we’ve got a visitor here.”  
“I don’t care if the fucking Queen’s come around for tea, I’m busy.” He was clearly getting irritated now. Domeric was now stood just beside her, staring at the door anxiously. If the roles were reversed, Effie was certain Ramsay wouldn’t look quite as anxious as Domeric did now.  
“Domeric’s come to see you.” Effie yelled through the wood.  
“Who?” Effie smirked. She knew Roose never would have told him about the other son. It was going to be like a wife finding out her husband was cheating on her with a model, and had been doing so for years.  
“Domeric. Your brother.”

Looking from one to the other, Effie stood in silence as she took in the tense atmosphere in the room. Ramsay was glaring at Domeric, challenging him with nothing but his eyes, whilst Domeric tried to avoid his gaze whilst figuring out exactly why Ramsay was trying to challenge him. Her months as a mute had prepared her for this moment, and Effie drank in every little detail of the silent exchange. She hadn’t felt so full for a very long time.  
“Anyone for tea?” She piped up, curious as to how the creatures would react once they were disturbed.  
“No.” Ramsay growled. At the same time, Domeric looked at her and said “Yes please.” Effie smirked to herself as Domeric glanced nervously at Ramsay, his face reddening with embarrassment.  
“Do you take sugar?” She asked, pretending as if she was oblivious to the mood.  
“No thank you.” Domeric smiled weakly, wringing his hands together as it dawned on him that with Effie gone he would be left alone with Ramsay. Regardless, Effie left them both to make Domeric’s tea.  
When she returned a few minutes later, nothing had changed. Ramsay still glared whilst Domeric looked like a drowning man in desperate search of a lifeboat. “Have you not said a word?” Effie asked her brother, her _real_ brother, whilst handing Domeric his tea. “Glaring at him isn’t going to get you anywhere.”  
“Shut the fuck up Eff.” Ramsay growled. Shrugging, Effie sat down in her usual place in front of the ruined Christmas tree that Ramsay still had failed to notice. There was something oddly fitting and poetic about how the tree was being destroyed, twisted and ruined, ornament by ornament, yet Ramsay still remained blind to it.  
“So you’re Domeric, my brother?” Ramsay asked at last.  
“Yes, I am.” Domeric nodded, smiling a kind smile.  
“Never heard of you.” Ramsay scoffed, leaning back into the sofa. He crossed his legs and spread his arms out across it as though he were claiming it as his own. Effie settled in for the entertainment, lighting a fag while she watched them.  
“Well I left home four years ago.” Domeric admitted.  
“I knew dad before then. I used to come and stay with him during the holidays when I was a kid. And I still have no idea who you are.” Ramsay narrowed his eyes resentfully.  
“We have several houses, though father’s given them out to his colleagues now I believe. I’m guessing he took you to one while I was at another. It’s not like he lined the walls with pictures of me. Or either of us. I suppose you had my room while you stayed there and he told you he kept a room for you.” She could tell that Domeric’s assumptions were correct when Ramsay’s expression turned thunderous.  
“So why did you leave? Did someone forget to plump your pillow? Or had the caviar gone off?” Ramsay laughed cruelly, and looked to Effie as if she expected her to laugh with him. She just exhaled, and rolled her eyes as if his attempt at humour bored her.  
“No. Father and I had some…issues.” Domeric stared down at his mug of tea, and Effie inched forward, curious to know why this boy who once had everything, gave it up because of Roose. Or maybe she just wanted to know how he had escaped.  
“Really? You want to come here and talk about daddy issues? You’ve come to the right place. Effie doesn’t even know her dad, and mine…ours…ignored me for years.” Ramsay sneered. “Well, besides the money he sent my mother which all went straight up her nose.” Effie didn’t even glance at him, too intrigued by the stranger in their midst. Domeric looked exceedingly guilty with each thing her brother said, yet Effie knew it wasn’t his fault. There was no point in her telling Ramsay to shut up though. She didn’t owe Domeric anything, he was still Roose’s son after all.  
“I’m very sorry to hear all that. My father should have provided and cared for you, as any father should. But I’ll confess that I was as aware of your existence as you were of mine. It wasn’t until your sister began to appear in newspapers and such that I did some digging and discovered you had moved in with father.” Domeric looked at her then, with a weak smile on his lips and pity in his gaze.   
_He knows_.  
“Well I’d apologise if you think I’ve taken your place but the truth is I don’t give a shit.” Ramsay shrugged nonchalantly, and Domeric glanced over at him with his head still trained towards Effie.  
“I don’t think you’ve taken my place. There is a place her for the both of us. We are family, after all.” Domeric’s gaze returned to Effie, who took a thoughtful pull of her cigarette.  
“Whatever you say Sister Sledge. But what are you doing back here?” Ramsay was clearly growing bored with this new sibling.  
“I heard we have a new mother. I felt it only polite I came home for Christmas to meet my new family.” Domeric smiled and took a sip of his tea, looking at Ramsay again.  
“Took you four years to regain family values, huh? So what issues did you have with dad?” Ramsay’s lips twisted into a cruel grin.  
“We didn’t see eye to eye on the…family business.” Domeric had turned even paler, and looked almost sickly.   
It wasn’t the first time it had occurred to Effie that she didn’t know what exactly it was that Mr Bolton did, besides using her as a payment method. But every time she had thought about it she had concluded that it was best she remained in the dark.  
“Right. The family business.” Ramsay chuckled darkly. They all resumed the awkward silence for a moment before Ramsay spoke again. “Father and Walda are on their honeymoon right now.” He said with a smirk.  
“Honeymoon? Where did they go?” Domeric’s brows furrowed together, but his face betrayed his amusement.  
“Up north. Yorkshire, I think.” Ramsay said, smiling a secretive smile.  
“Wow. Dad knows how to treat a woman.” Domeric laughed awkwardly, glancing over at Effie who was stubbing out her fag into the coaster she’d dubbed an ash tray.  
“So, bro, what are you going to do?” Ramsay asked, arching an eyebrow expectantly.  
“Any idea when father will be back?” Domeric’s tone was hopeful.  
“Nope.” Her brother was blunt and unyielding, but Domeric seemed to ignore it and turned to look at Effie once more.  
“I guess I’ll stick around for a while then.” He decided with a warm smile. Giving an exaggerated sigh, Ramsay rolled his eyes. Effie, on the other hand, held his gaze with her own. Her brows pulled together as she tried to figure out what Domeric’s presence meant. Would it change things? For the better? For the worse? He seemed nice enough, but Effie had learnt never to trust looks. There always came a point, usually when she cared about them enough for it to hurt her, that they turned their backs and walked away.


	45. Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's giving everything to numb the burn  
> Addicted to the losing fight  
> She looks vacant but the the wheels still turn  
> She could be singing this tonight

Following the awkward introductions, Ramsay disappeared upstairs once again. After a moment, Effie followed. The excitement of their visitor had died and they had both just been sitting there in silence while Domeric finished his tea. Recalling that she had a client due that evening, Effie went to make herself look as undesirable as possible. The fucker would get ginger hair, but that was the only thing he would find attractive about her. Slipping into a flesh coloured, silk playsuit that had been on the floor of her bedroom for too long a time, she messed her hair up and admired how bad she looked. Skin and bone, white as a ghost except for the red scars on her arms.  
By the time she headed back downstairs, she had forgotten Domeric was even there and so stopped in the doorway of the lounge when she saw him still sat on the sofa, empty mug still in his hand. Without saying a word to him, Effie went over to the Christmas tree and removed an ornament. She sat down in her customary spot and picked up the lighter she’d left there. Sensing Domeric’s curious gaze on her, she began to burn the bauble, letting it twirl as the familiar scent of burning plastic filled her nostrils.  
“Not a fan of Christmas trees?” Domeric asked after a while, arching an eyebrow.  
“Not this one, no.” Effie mused, never taking her eyes away from the burning bauble. Once the plastic had twisted enough for it to be deemed grotesque, Effie blew out the flames and placed it back on the tree before sitting back down and lighting a fag.  
“Are you allowed to smoke in the house?” His brows furrowed with concern.  
“There’s been no one here to stop me.” Effie shrugged, looking at him for the first time since she entered the room as she exhaled.  
“Those things will kill you, you know.” He pointed out.  
“Really? Hadn’t heard.” She replied flatly, continuing to take nonchalant pulls. They settled back into an awkward silence and she could sense him taking in her ruined state, then looking at the ornaments on the Christmas tree again.  
“I’m guessing that was the work of our new mother, not father.” Domeric chuckled.  
“She’s not my mother, and he’s not my father. But yes. It was her work.”  
“I’ve always hated artificial Christmas trees. Real ones have a better smell.” He mused. They both looked at the tree. “The burnt ornaments make a good juxtaposition though. Gives it a ‘Tim Burton’ vibe.” Domeric grinned at the tree. “Even so, it still doesn’t seem to fit in.”  
“Too cheerful.” Effie said bitterly. He nodded in agreement. Again, they fell back into silence. Effie wondered what he was thinking about. Bad things had happened to him here too, she could tell. She continued to ponder over it as she finished off her cigarette and Domeric turned on the TV, flicking through the channels until he found one he liked. It was a repeat of Blackadder, which Effie had only watched during a history class once but she had found quite amusing, and so remained in the lounge to watch it. After a time, she migrated to the sofa Ramsay had been sat on earlier. Stretched out along it, she suddenly recalled how tired she was. She really should get some coffee before she drifted off to sleep and missed her client.  
“When was the last time you ate something?” The sound of Domeric’s voice pulled her out of her doze, which she hadn’t realised she’d fallen into.  
“What?”  
“You haven’t eaten. How long since you last ate something?” Looking over at him, Effie frowned when she glimpsed something that resembled concern on his face.  
“I’m fine.” She told him flatly.  
“How do you do it?” For a moment, Effie was stunned into silence. She had expected him to try and encourage her to eat, or try to find ‘the root of the problem’.   
“Ramsay must notice?” That made her burst into laughter.  
“No, he doesn’t. But it doesn’t matter…you see…it’s like nobody’s fucking business.” Effie chuckled bitterly. “And…it’s not like anybody cares.” She added quietly, though somehow Domeric still heard it. Shifting uncomfortably on the sofa, Effie desperately searched for something else to talk about.  
“You don’t look much older than Ramsay.” Domeric considered that for a moment, reclining back on the sofa.  
“How old is he?” He asked.  
“21.” It took her a moment to remember. “How old are you?”  
“21 too.” Domeric’s face turned solemn, his voice quiet. Effie smirked to herself. “Wow. Who’d have thought Roose Bolton was the type to get around.” She snorted. Domeric continued to watch the TV, though his eyes were unseeing. “If it’s any consolation, my mum probably threw herself at him and didn’t bother to ask if he was married.” It didn’t seem to be any consolation at all, and Domeric continued to look miserable.  
During her time alone, Effie had learnt to channel guilt into her own self destruction. There were so many things she could blame herself for that it was just easier to let them drive her towards the edge. But this new addition hit her hard, especially as she hadn’t expected to feel it. She felt responsible for the wounded look on Domeric’s face. Who was she to cause him pain? She didn’t know him. He’d done nothing to hurt her but be Roose’s son. Ramsay was his son too, and he had been hurting her long before she even met Roose.  
“Did she leave him too?” Effie asked quietly. Domeric turned his head and looked at her, confusion replacing the sadness. “Your mother, I mean.”  
“No.” He said after a moment’s pause. “She died when I was three.” His voice grew sad again. Effie considered him to be lucky. In her experience, mothers didn’t live up to expectations.  
“How?” It was cruel of her to ask, she knew, but death was something she was drawn to; a moth to a flame.  
“She was pregnant and they had to perform a caesarean to get the baby out. The cord was wrapped around the baby’s neck, so they had to try and revitalise it. While they did that, my mother bled to death.” Effie knew that those words belonged to Roose, not Domeric. He had only been three years old, so how could he have known all the details if Roose hadn’t told him. He’d probably told the boy with the same bluntness he would use to describe how a cow had been butchered. Effie could imagine Domeric at home, three years old, with a nanny perhaps, wondering where his mother was while she was in the hospital, breathing her last breath as the doctor pumped on the baby’s chest with the same regular rhythm he’d use to jerk himself off.  
“Did the child die too?” She asked. Domeric just nodded. “Was it a boy or a girl?”  
“A girl.” Domeric closed his eyes wearily, clearly wishing for the conversation to reach its end.  
“Did she have a name?”  
“Not that I know of.” Of course. As if Roose would bother naming his dead daughter. Effie fell silent again, as she figured out that she’d be the same age as his sister. Would she have gone through the same shit Effie had? Would Roose have done that to his own child? Would he even have taken Effie in if he’d already had a daughter? Perhaps Domeric never would have left home if he’d had a sister. Then Roose would have had no need of Ramsay and she would have remained on the estate.  
And suddenly there were tears on her cheeks. Effie wiped them away with her fingers and rubbed the pads of her thumb and index together, wondering why she was crying and who she was crying for. Herself? The life she could have had? Domeric and his nameless sister?   
“I’m sorry they died.” Effie said quietly, meaning every word. When Domeric looked at her, she offered him the only smile she had, and he returned it graciously. “Me too.” His tone was sad, and she could sense that they both knew things would have been so much different for them both had his mother and sister lived.

When the doorbell rang at nine o’clock, they were still both on the sofas watching TV. Effie sprang up, recalling the Baelish guy she was expecting. Domeric also sat up and went to get up. “Don’t bother.” Effie told him. “It’s for me.” She had just lit yet another fag, and so took it with her when she went to answer the door. It almost annoyed her when Domeric followed. She didn’t want him to see this.  
As Ramsay had said, Petyr Baelish was no man of particular significance. Effie was taller than him by a couple of inches. Opening the door, Effie took a pull of her cigarette and regarded him coolly. Her brother had told her this man was important, but he wasn’t important to her and she wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. Slumping against the doorframe, she looked him up and down, saying nothing. “Effie, I presume?” He said after a moment of her inspecting him.  
“Mr Baelish, I’m guessing?” Effie retorted. His lips twisted into an irritated smirk, and his eyes glinted meanly. Perhaps she should be afraid, but Effie had faced bigger men.  
“Baelish?” Glancing over her shoulder, Effie saw Domeric appear behind her; his face pulled into a confused frown.  
“Domeric? I hadn’t expected to see you. Your father did not tell me you were back.” The man’s face creased into a more pleasant smile, yet it didn’t quite reach his mean green eyes. Effie watched him closely, and concluded he was not someone to be trusted. Not that it mattered much to her. In her experience, no one was to be trusted.  
“I haven’t told him I’m back yet.” Domeric admitted, coming forward to shake Mr Baelish’s hand firmly.  
“I’m sure it will be as pleasant a surprise for him as it is for me.” Petyr gushed. Effie wrinkled her nose, smelling bullshit. Stepping back, Domeric glanced from her to Baelish. “Anyway, Petyr, what are you doing here?” He asked, his pale eyes filled with concern now.  
“Business reasons. Your father and I had a…disagreement. He wishes to make amends.” Baelish eyed Effie, not with lust, but as an opportunity. The opportunity to please and satisfy himself as well as an opportunity to make amends for business reasons. Oh the romance of it all.  
“My father is away. On his honeymoon, apparently.” Domeric told him. Effie bit back laughter. She’d thought Domeric was clever, though perhaps he was feigning innocence.  
“With his young bride, Walda Frey. Sweet thing, though it seems her tooth is sweeter.” Petyr chuckled. “I have done my business with him already. It is simply a matter of payment to see to now.”  
Tired of his formality, Effie flicked her cigarette out the door and stood aside to allow Mr Baelish in. The two men watched her as she closed the door, then began heading towards the stairs. “It was good to see you again Domeric. You’re looking well.” With one last smarmy smile at Domeric, Petyr’s full attention turned to Effie and he followed her towards the stairs. She couldn’t even look at Domeric, fearing she would see disgust, or worse, pity on his face. Remaining ahead by at least five steps, Effie led the way up the stairs to her room. Once in there, she turned the light on and went and sat down on the bed. Petyr followed her inside, closing the door behind him, then took one look around the room and looked as if he wanted to open it and walk back out again. Lolling her head from side to side, she waited for him to finish judging the state of her workplace. He should have known just from the state of her what he was getting himself into. What was he expecting? A fully established brothel?  
“So…what do you want me to do?” She asked, finally bored with the seemingly endless silence.  
“Don’t talk.” He ordered, removing his coat and hanging it on the hook on the back of her door. Arching an eyebrow, Effie sighed with irritation. She’d had her hair died for this dickhead. When he looked at her, she lost the annoyed look. His gaze was cold and cruel, almost as though he were disgusted by her. But Effie sensed he was a little disgusted with himself too. He removed the red patterned tie he wore, hooking that over his coat and undoing his top button before finally joining her on the bed.  
“When were these sheets last changed?” He asked her. She regarded him as coldly as he did her, and kept her lips pursed shut. Moving fast, he caught her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I asked you a question.” His voice was as cruel as his green gaze.  
“You told me not to talk.” Effie snapped back. Baelish’s lips twisted into a smile. “You truly are Ramsay’s sister aren’t you?” He chuckled. Effie wished she possessed the ability to spit venom. “When I ask you a question, you answer. Understood?”  
“Yes Mr Baelish.” She replied through gritted teeth.  
“Better.” He released her chin. “When were these sheets last washed?”  
“I haven’t changed them since I came home three weeks ago.” He curled his lip in disgust. She had seen no point in changing them seeing as she never slept in her bed unless she was exhausted, and the men were all just as disgusting as each other. There was no point changing them.  
“You will change them before I come again. If I come again.”  
“Oh don’t worry, you’ll come again. And again, and again, and…” He slapped her across the cheek sharply. Glaring at him, Effie pursed her lips once again, recalling the no talking rule.  
“I do not appreciate your insolence, understand? I want you to be obedient. You wouldn’t want Roose receiving bad reports about your behaviour, do you?” The thought of Roose Bolton made her feel sick, and she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.  
“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper.  
“No. Because you know what he does with bad investments. What do you think he’d do if a bad investment turned bad?” Baelish chuckled again, and it felt like ice sliding down her back. Not wanting to think of an answer, Effie remained silent. Inside her head, she could hear Gregor roaring.   
“I’ll do whatever you want.” She whispered eventually. Closing her eyes against that sickening smirk, she waited for him to command her. Instead, he pressed his lips against hers. Effie tried to squirm away instinctively, but he held her to him. After a while, she ceased squirming and allowed him to plunder her mouth was his tongue. His mouth tasted of mint, but that made the sensation of his tongue against hers no more pleasurable, and she couldn’t help but picture a worm writhing inside her mouth.   
By the time he pulled away, she was breathless and sickened.  
“Here’s what I want you to do. I’m going to make love to you, and you’re going to pretend to enjoy it.” He commanded softly.  
“Mr Baelish…”  
“Petyr.” He cut in, fondling her newly dyed locks. “Call me Petyr.”  
The icy, professional exterior was gone after that. Pushing her back onto the bed, he continued to kiss her until she was gasping for breath. His hands pawed at her breasts as he quickly stripped her of her playsuit. Effie lay still as he removed his own clothes, and gasped in pain as he entered her with one sharp thrust. Following the initial pain, Effie tuned out as was customary these days; staring up at the ceiling and wishing she were somewhere, anywhere else.  
She yelped when he pinched and twisted one of her nipples, bringing her crashing back down to the horrible reality. “Moan.” He growled. Effie cried out as he twisted again. “I don’t care if you moan with pain.” After that, she tried. He had told her to pretend to enjoy it, and so she wrapped her legs around his waist; urging him on with her body and voice. As he had requested, she moaned his first name until he began to moan himself. His thrusts quickened and he ran his hands through her hair and over her face possessively. For a time, all she could hear was the sound of skin on skin, but then his breath stirred the hair beside her ear and he began to speak huskily, groaning out a name. Effie continued to cling to him, glad that the false pretence was working and that it would be over soon. Closing her eyes, she tried to find a little pleasure herself. He was gentler than her recent clients had been, and for that she knew she should be grateful.  
“San…Sansa…” Petyr gasped and began to press into her harder. Effie’s eyes snapped open. “Oh…Sansa…” He moaned again.   
The name seemed to pull at something inside of her until it teared and withered and died. She wanted him off of her. She wanted to crawl beneath the soiled covers and suffocate herself amidst the scent of blood and sweat and seed. She wanted to put a blade to her wrist and finish her pitiful life, though perhaps that was too good for her. She deserved to be punished.  
Effie didn’t even realise when Petyr stilled and spilled inside of her. Only the sound of him crying out Sansa’s name in ecstasy was what notified her of his orgasm, and she turned her face into the pillows so that he would not see her tears. Afterwards, he collapsed onto her, though it wasn’t his weight that made her heart feel heavy. Biting back a sob, she listened as his breathing steadied. He seemed to be lying on her for a long while, as though he needed time to compose himself again. It struck her that perhaps he _did_ need time. Perhaps he was grieving. You didn’t cry out someone’s name without wishing that it was them listening. Petyr, for all his icy exterior and cruel mannerisms, was mourning. He had entered the room already disgusted and ashamed with himself for having to resort to this; a pathetic replacement. A girl whose hair wasn’t even truly red, but had been dyed and put in a room for his pleasure like some common prostitute. She wasn’t the sweet, innocent girl he wanted; polite and mindful of her courtesies like someone out of a fantasy. Effie was a common girl from an estate who had hated him the moment he walked in the door. Petyr was clever, she could tell, and it hadn’t failed to escape his notice that she resented him. She couldn’t even mask her revulsion like Sansa would have done. He had known she was a mistake the moment they’d met, yet he’d come in anyway. To spite Roose, perhaps.  
It were as though all the wounds she had tried to bandage up had been torn open again. She felt used. No one ever wanted her for herself. They only saw what they wanted to see; a payment method, a whore, a childish crush, another woman. Even Podrick, for all his innocent fantasies, had seen her as just that. A fantasy.  
Yet, though Petyr’s use of her hurt, and the thought of him crawling all over Sansa like he had done her made Effie feel bilious, she couldn’t help but pity him. Because she knew what it was like; to love someone and not have them love you back. To want someone, but never be able to have them. She knew that it hurt. It hurt so much; a constant ache that couldn’t be cured. You couldn’t let it bleed out, or starve it to death. The pain would never go away, and she would have to live or die with the gaping, throbbing hole inside of her.  
Effie remained with her face buried in the pillows as Petyr rolled over onto the edge of the bed. He sniffed and wiped his nose, though Effie doubted the man was capable of tears. “Yes.” In the faint light, she could see him nod. “You’ll do.” He announced coldly.  
As Mr Baelish dressed, Effie pulled the covers up over her head. When she had been sad as a child, Ramsay used to make a den out of their bed covers, and there they would stay until the sadness went away. Things were different now though. Now, Effie let the sadness wash over her, and listened to the waves of voices as they lulled her into a turbulent sleep.


	46. Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And haven't you seen these scars?  
> Buried inside my skin  
> The memories that we've lost  
> Can never return again

There was a terrible disorientated feeling when she woke up, born out of the fact she seemed to be wrapped up in some sort of cotton cocoon.  
“Effie?” Came a voice from outside her light blue and blood stained world. “Effie, are you okay?” Groaning, she inched the covers back to see Domeric stood just inside the room, holding two mugs of tea. “Thought you might be thirsty.” He shrugged, smiling weakly. He looked as though he hadn’t slept well either.  
“Cheers.” Effie croaked. “Could you put it down somewhere? I’m sort of…indecent.” She admitted.  
“Yeah, right.” Domeric’s cheeks flushed and he placed the tea on her dresser, not looking at her despite the fact the duvet came up to her chin. “I’ll see you in a minute.” He muttered, still not looking at her. She nodded and waited for the door to close behind her before getting out of bed. At a glimpse of her scarred arms, Effie recalled she hadn’t added one for Petyr. Perhaps she’d cut deeper this time.  
Grabbing a vest top and pulling on some knickers, Effie shuffled to the bathroom. Her head was pounding and her cheeks felt stiff and sore from where the tears had dried. Her reflection told her that she looked a total mess, and Effie was inclined to agree. But it was not with the intention of fixing herself up that she reached for her makeup bag. Rummaging through it, she pulled out the sharpener and slid the blade out. For a moment, Effie glanced up at her own reflection and almost willed it to stop her. The girl looked back at her with an equal sense of desperation, but it was hard to tell whether she was desperate for her to stop or desperate for her to do it. Effie looked away, frightened by those sad blue eyes. The blade pressed a thin, cold kiss against her pale skin, before licking across the flesh, leaving a thin red trail in its wake. Blood welled beneath the skin before pushing out. It was warm in comparison to the steel kiss of the blade. Effie watched with fascination as the red liquid slid languorously over her wrist like a scarlet bracelet before dripping into the sink. When she chanced a glance at her reflection again, Effie saw the girl was crying. She hadn’t wanted her to do it after all.  
“Effie?” It was Domeric’s voice again, and she span around at the sound of his feet on the stairs.  
“Just a minute!” She yelled. Closing the bathroom door, she looked around the bathroom in search of something to cover her arm discreetly. Much like her bedroom, her bathroom was in a state. There wasn’t even any loo roll she could stop the flow of blood with. Panicked, Effie ran her wrist under the tap, hissing as the water stung and pulled at the torn flesh.  
“You okay?” Effie’s temper snapped suddenly. Why did he have to come and check on her? Why did he care? And why did he make her feel ashamed of the things she’d done? Why did she feel the need to hide herself from him?  
“I’m fine!” She snapped, shutting off the water and watching as blood continued to pulse lazily. Perhaps she had cut a little deeper than usual.  
“Can you come out of the bathroom then?” She knew it would be worse if she ignored him, and so unlocked the bathroom door, not even attempting to hide the cut on her wrist. The water made the blood flow quicker, and she was forced to hold up her arm to prevent it from dripping on the carpet. Domeric watched her, not with horror or pity, but with a solemn understanding. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She was confused when he turned away from her and headed back downstairs, pausing after the first flight, presumably waiting for her to follow. With one last glance at the stranger in the mirror, Effie followed him.

The antiseptic stung, and Effie hissed as he wiped over the cut. “It’s not deep.” He told her, focusing intently on the cut.  
“Damn.” Effie replied flatly. Domeric continued to wipe at it until the area was clean, then told her to hold her arm up, resting her elbow on the kitchen table as he made fresh cups of tea for them both. “Why do you do it?” He asked with his back to her. It wasn’t said accusingly, as if she was to blame for her own issues. His tone was general, the same as he would use to ask her if she took sugar in her tea.  
“Why does it matter to you so much?” Her defensive tone was instinctive, though she hadn’t meant to sound so harsh.  
“I just want to help you.” Domeric admitted, turning and bringing her tea over. His answer left a bitter taste in her mouth. People had tried to help her before, and she’d ended up destroying them. Sansa died because Effie had dragged her down with her, and Margaery hated her for it. Jeyne had tried to help her, and Effie had tried to do the same back by leaving the notebook for her to find. She could have handed it in and had Ramsay locked up. It might have ruined Effie, but Effie was already ruined. So she had led her to the book and then…nothing. Sometimes she wondered if Jeyne had even bothered to read it. Maybe she had been too angry after Effie told her she had stolen drugs and decided to just leave them to be found, and the book had been given to Mrs Dustin. That bitch wouldn’t help her. She’d probably send it to Roose herself.  
“How can you help me?” Effie asked, out of curiosity. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted help.  
“I’m not sure yet. But…I want to at least try.” Domeric said sadly, refusing to meet her gaze.  
“Why?” Effie probed. “Why do you want to help me?” He looked at her then. His eyes were solemn and weary, as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then he rolled up his sleeve, and twisted his arm until the morning light revealed faded scars across his wrist and arm. “Because, once, someone did the same for me.”

It took some coaxing to get her to go out for a walk with him. Effie had protested with one excuse after another, and Domeric dealt with each of them calmly. It was unnerving to have him not lose his patience with her as she was used to. Eventually, he got the true reason for her reluctance out of her, which Effie admitted with her eyes downcast. “Locke said he was allowed me any time he saw me and he felt like it.” She told him. “If I go out there, he’ll see me. And he always feels like it.” Domeric waited for her to meet his gentle gaze before speaking.  
“Has he hurt you?”   
Effie nodded.  
“Injured you?”  
“A little.” She confessed.  
“Then we can use that against him. He can’t just have you whenever Effie, not while I’m here.” He assured firmly.  
“But Roose said…”  
“Let me deal with father.” Domeric’s voice was unwavering, but Effie glimpsed fear in his pale eyes. She didn’t judge him for that. His promising that alone took more courage than Effie possessed.  
And so she was outside, taking in the fresh air as well as nicotine as she smoked relentlessly. Thankfully Domeric did not reprimand her for it, perhaps knowing she needed something to focus on from time to time. It had been a long time since Effie had been outside for this long a time. Autumn was gone now and winter had settled into the bones of the earth. Effie was shocked by how blind she had been to the changing seasons, and scolded herself for not having appreciated that at least. The cold nipped at her cheeks and nose, and she could have sworn she felt the cold more than she used to, and thanked Domeric for making her wear an extra coat.  
“Why did you start cutting?” Effie asked once they reached the woods. Domeric smiled to himself. “You ask a lot of questions.”  
“I suppose I like to know things. Gives me some small sense of…control.” She shrugged, laughing.  
“That’s fair enough, I suppose. I started when I was thirteen, I think.” He confessed.  
“Why?”  
“Is it always as simple as that? Lots of reasons, I suppose. I had issues with bullying at school, and father isn’t the most compassionate man. If you think you don’t have anyone that cares about you, sometimes you start to think you aren’t worth caring about.” They walked side by side through the forest in silence, for a time, as Effie processed the answer in her mind.  
“What about you? Why do you do it?” Domeric asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. She had to consider that request, and her cold cheeks flushed with heat. “I…I don’t want to.” She said quietly. “It’s not you, it’s just…it’s kind of weird.” Domeric just nodded understandingly, much to Effie’s relief. She didn’t want to tell him about her quest for a small death, or what it meant. “I cut after I see a client.” She admitted. He had told her something, and it seemed only fair she did the same, even if her offering was meagre.  
“Was it for Petyr, when you did it this morning?” Her throat was too dry to speak so Effie just nodded. “He seemed a bit off when he left. Was everything…alright?” Her hands trembled as she lit another cigarette.  
“He…um, he muttered a name while we were…you know. I knew the girl. She died recently.” Effie thought she could make it through the whole sentence without breaking, but the tears hit her suddenly, and with such force that she was forced to double over. It seemed to pierce her lungs and make her gasp for breath. And it hurt. It was the same painful, aching feeling she’d felt last night, and Effie heaved up tears, desperate for her heart to heave up with them. “It’s my fault.” She sobbed. “It’s all my fault.”   
At first she thought she was imagining the comforting arm around her shoulders; that the voices had grown limbs to heal and hurt her with. But the voice was not one inside her head. “What happened Effie? It’ll be okay, I promise, just tell me what happened.”   
“My friend…Sansa…she died…because of me…” Effie choked out between rib-cracking sobs. The arm around her shoulders seemed to tense and freeze for a second. “Sansa? Sansa Stark?” Effie only managed a nod. “Sansa’s…dead?” Domeric asked, his voice barely a whisper. Effie hardly heard the grief in it. “Yes. She overdosed…on heroine…it was all my fault.”   
They remained like that for a long time, long after the winter chill settled into their bones. When Effie finally pulled away, she saw that Domeric’s eyes were red from where the tears had stung them. “You knew her?”  
Domeric nodded solemnly. “I was good friends with her brothers.” He admitted. Effie knew a little about what had happened to Sansa’s family. It was said that the death of her two younger brothers was what had led to her ending up at Barrowton, though she suspected it had more to do with Joffrey’s cruelty. Her mother, father, and elder brother had died before Effie and Ramsay had moved in with Roose, and that was why she had ended up with the Lannisters. Effie vaguely recalled more family members, but she didn’t know what had happened to them.  
It was clear that Domeric had been very close with the brothers, and that the news of Sansa’s death hit him hard too.  
Standing, Effie placed a hand on his arm to help him up too. “I’m so sorry.” She said quietly. It had been her fault, and she was waiting for Domeric to shake her off and walk away. But he didn’t. Instead, he smiled weakly and placed his own hand over hers on his arm. “You lost her too.” He muttered.   
They continued on along the trail, with Domeric now asking questions about what had happened. Once again Effie found herself admiring his strength. It was obvious that what little details of Sansa’s death that she knew pained him, yet he continued to listen anyway. Effie found herself telling him much more than just what had happened to Sansa. She told him all about her time at Barrowton House.  
“So you must know my aunt? Barbrey?” Effie stopped in her tracks.  
“Dustin is your _aunt_?” She asked, horrified.  
“Yes. My mother was her sister.” Effie took a step away from him.  
“She’s a malicious prude.” She spat instinctively. Domeric frowned and turned to face her. “I know she can be cold, but she was always kind to me.” He told her gently.  
“She hates me, and she hated Sansa. She was glad that she died.” Effie’s voice turned to a hiss, and she was unable to stop herself from glaring at Domeric, seeing only Barbrey’s cruel smile in her mind.  
“I’m sure that’s not true.” Domeric argued, though it was clear he was trying not to seem offended.  
“It is.” Effie insisted, before continuing along the path until they reached a small clearing, with a log that overlooked the rolling hills. Effie was hit by a déjà vu, and all thoughts of Mrs Dustin were swept from her mind, replaced instead by Damon’s goofy grin. She wasn’t sure whether it was his fags she could smell or her own. Taking slow steps, Effie approached the log and sat down, not caring that it was wet. Pulling her feet up onto the wood, she hugged her knees and found herself willing for him to appear from nowhere. He didn’t.  
“That log’s wet. You’ll catch a chill.” Domeric’s voice made her open her eyes reluctantly, and she sullenly reached into her pocket to pull out another fag.  
“I know. I just want to sit here. Just for a little bit.” Effie replied, her voice seeming empty and distant. Staring out across the dreary winter landscape, she did her best to recall every memory she could of her conversations here with Damon.  
“What are you thinking about?” Domeric asked, their disagreement over Barbrey clearly forgotten. Effie sighed contentedly, her anger quickly receding. “A little while ago there was this guy, a friend of Ramsay’s. He taught me to smoke here.” She told him, taking a pull of her cigarette.  
“What was his name?”  
“Damon.” She exhaled, smiling to herself. Domeric smiled too, just because she was. It was nice to think that she could make others smile.  
“Did you like him?” He was watching her, still smiling. Effie just shrugged. The familiar aching feeling returned and she stubbed her fag out angrily. “Doesn’t matter.” She mumbled. “He’s gone now.” She didn’t wait for Domeric as she headed back the way they had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh, I love Damon and Effie so much that it actually hurts.  
> Sorry this chapter is pretty much all dialogue. I'm just establishing the Effie/Domeric relationship as best I can I suppose.


	47. Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you worry so much  
> It makes me want to cry  
> Fragile like the leaves come fall

With Domeric’s help, she began to get better. He never lost patience with her. He never got angry with her if she threw up her food or didn’t eat. He didn’t even scold her if she cut herself, which she was doing less and less. Clients still came, and sometimes she felt so degraded afterwards that she would reach for the blade again. But she never hid it from him, and he would clean it up for her and tell her it was okay. They went walking regularly and Effie began to grow stringer. One day they drove down to the beach and she managed to walk all the way up to the top of the cliffs. It had been deserted due to the cold, but Effie found the emptiness of it oddly beautiful. A barren wasteland where everything was neither perfect nor ruined. She had sat down on the ground near the edge of the cliff, and stared out across the cold, grey sea, and had stayed there until her fingers turned blue.  
On the days when the weather forced them to remain inside, Domeric taught her to play guitar. He was very gifted at music, and a good teacher. Effie would grow frustrated with herself when she forgot the chords, and Domeric would swear that she was doing well. They even managed to learn several songs, and both of them were pleasantly surprised to discover that Effie possessed a pleasant singing voice. She was nothing special, but it meant a lot to know that she had talents beyond what clients told her she was good at.  
Due to Ramsay having taken over Domeric’s rooms, and there being no chance of him relinquishing any of them, Domeric had been sleeping on the sofa since he had returned home. Effie had offered him one of her rooms, but he had graciously declined knowing that she didn’t truly want to be left with just her bedroom. He had, eventually, begun to sleep in Roose’s room. When indoors they spent most of their time in Effie’s den and he had helped her to tidy up her rooms, saying nothing if he came across anything unsanitary. It felt strangely nice to have a bedroom that didn’t smell of hateful things, and Effie began to sleep in her own bed again. She changed the sheets after every client so that she wasn’t sleeping in soiled bedding.  
There was another reason to keep her room clean though. Mr Baelish continued to call on her regularly and despite the happenings of their first meeting, tensions gradually eased between them. Effie always obeyed and kept quiet unless granted permission to speak. She could tell that she pleased him, though he always seemed to leave heavy-hearted. She found that if she moaned and cried out loud enough, she could drown out Petyr’s voice and Sansa’s name.  
There was only one dark cloud over her that never seemed to disperse. Ramsay’s behaviour had grown frighteningly unpredictable. He appeared from his floor once each day, though never warning when he would descend upon them. His mood was as unpredictable as his presence and Effie constantly feared what he would do if she or Domeric did something to upset him or get in his way. The only thing that overrode her fear was her anger. Her brother would come charging out, dirty and unwashed, and ruin the world Domeric was helping her build. The more she thought about it, the more she realised how this had been a recurring pattern her whole life. Whenever something was making her happy, Ramsay would ruin it and seemed to find great joy in her misery. Like the time he had let her go on the pony rides at the school fair, then popped her balloon to make the horse bolt. And the time when he had turned up at the Barrowton open day, uninvited, ruining her almost-perfect little world there by shooting an arrow at her. And then there was Damon. Time and time again he had gotten between them somehow. She had been happy with Damon until Ramsay had agreed to move in with his father. Had he asked her what she’d wanted? No. He hadn’t even told her the cost of his decision until it was too late. Now Damon thought she had no idea who he was, and Ramsay wouldn’t even let her call him. He had seen to it that he would never come back too, whatever that meant.  
Brothers could be mean sometimes, but what kind of person would all but sell their sibling and repeatedly ruin any chance they had at happiness?  
Ramsay did care for her, or used to. But it was in his own selfish, possessive way, and he showed it in the cruellest ways possible.  
Effie’s thoughts were affirmed when Ramsay appeared one morning to join her and Domeric for breakfast. From his grin alone, she knew he had something he was itching to tell her. “What?” She snapped eventually, tired of him smirking at her.  
“Nothing! It’s just nice to see you so much better.” He assured, placing and hand over hers. His grin faltered a little when she twisted out of his grasp. “Father’s pleased.” Ramsay added, his lips twisting back into that cruel smile again, and his eyes glinted with malice.  
“You told him?” Effie asked, her tone incredulous.  
“Of course! He’s been concerned about you.” Ramsay lied. Rolling her eyes, Effie glanced over at Domeric to see his face pinched with worry. Seeing his expression, Effie asked the question he was afraid of asking. “Did you tell him Domeric was back?” Domeric met her gaze and smiled his thanks, before turning and waiting nervously for Ramsay’s reply.  
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ramsay looked over at him, sticking out his bottom lip in mock innocence. “Did you not want him to know yet?” Her brother grinned as Domeric stopped eating and stared silently down at his plate.  
“It wasn’t your place to tell him.” Effie told Ramsay quietly, daring to glare at him.  
“Whatever.” Ramsay shrugged. “This bacon tastes like crap by the way.” He said through a mouthful of sandwich.  
“It’s not real bacon. It’s Quorn. Domeric and I are vegetarian.” Effie told him frankly, taking a bite out of her own sandwich.  
Ramsay threw the food down as if she’d just told him he was eating worms. “Vegetarian? That’s stupid. You get what you’re given.” Her brother growled. In a refreshing fit of daring, Effie rolled her eyes. If Ramsay saw then he chose not to dwell on it.  
“Anyway, father wanted me to tell you that you’ve got an interview for some magazine.” The smile returned to Ramsay’s face as he poured himself a cup of coffee.  
“I don’t want to do an interview.” Effie argued stubbornly.  
“Tough. The public needs to know you’re better.” Ramsay fixed her with a merciless look, but Effie was in no mood to back down easily. Perhaps Domeric’s presence gave her courage.  
“It’s none of their business.” She said, her voice strangely calm. Ramsay opened his mouth to argue, but was distracted when he noticed the state of her arms. Due to his unexpected appearances, she hadn’t thought to cover them up. The cuts were healing, but the scars were still apparent.  
“Have you been cutting yourself?” He asked, his expression turning thunderous. Effie just glared at him silently until he grabbed one of her arms and inspected it for himself. “For fuck sake.” He growled at her. “Why do you have to be so fucking…pathetic?” Snatching her arm away, Effie began to tremble and forced back the tears that had formed a lump in the back of her throat due to his cruel words.  
“Don’t call her that.” Domeric cut in, quiet but firm. Ramsay’s icy gaze turned to meet his. “And who the fuck do you think you are?”  
“Someone who cares about her. A friend.” Domeric replied stonily.  
“And I’m her fucking _brother_.”  
“I know exactly what you are.” Domeric hissed. She’d never seen him so angry before. The two brothers glared at each other for a long while. It was the first time Effie had been able to see anything vaguely similar between the two of them.  
“Fuck this.” Ramsay spat at him, standing up abruptly. “You’re going to that interview, or you’ll have father to deal with.” He told her before storming from the room, trembling with rage. Effie watched him go with her arms crossed sulkily. “I just pity his sex slave.” She joked when they heard his bedroom door slam shut, making Domeric laugh softly.  
“Do you think you’re ready for an interview?” He asked her, his amusement swiftly replaced by concern.  
“Suppose I’d better be.” She paused for a moment until a thought struck her that made her lips stretch into her own cruel grin. “But I’m fucking done with Ramsay thinking I’m his bloody property.” Domeric was clearly pleased to see her so determined, but his smile was unable to replace the concern she glimpsed in his pale eyes.

Effie managed the interview as well as she wanted to; appearing not quite as energetic as she used to, and pausing occasionally to look as though she was struggling. Sometimes her hesitations were genuine, and when they were she would look to Domeric for support. He had insisted on driving her to the interview himself and remaining for the duration of it as well as the photoshoot.  
“Who’s that with you?” The interviewer, a pleasant woman who had interviewed Effie a number of times, asked while looking over at Domeric.  
“That’s Domeric Bolton, my adopted brother, I guess.” Effie told her, smiling at him.  
“You two seem close. Would you say he’s been helping you?”  
Effie’s smile widened. “I’d say he’s been like the brother I never had.”  
“But…don’t you have a brother? Ramsay, isn’t it?” The interviewer frowned down at her notes.  
“Oh, yeah.” Effie laughed. “I’d almost forgotten.”  
She’d done many interviews before, back when she was a well-known socialite, and it all came back to her easily enough. Say everything, tell nothing. Effie had proven to be immensely talented at skipping around any questions involving her past or her home life. After the interview with ‘You’ magazine, her weeks were filled with photo shoots and more interviews. Effie never understood why there had to be so many when they all asked the same questions and received the same answers.  
One Saturday morning, she was sat with Domeric in the kitchen saying as such. “Well there’s no more scheduled for a while now. I think they’re bored of you.” He laughed.  
“Thank fuck for that!” She cried, rolling her eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, and a heavy feeling filled Effie when she saw a look of worry cross Domeric’s face. “What is it, what’s wrong?” She asked, sitting up a little straighter.  
“Oh, nothing! Nothing for you to worry about. It’s just…I was thinking of going out today. Just for the morning, to see some friends and stuff.” He admitted, watching her closely. To his surprise, Effie burst into laughter. “Then go! I don’t want to be your ball and chain.” She said, smiling warmly. It felt good to know that he was worried about leaving her. Most people didn’t care.  
“Are you sure? Will you be alright here? You know, with Ramsay?” Domeric asked, glancing up towards the ceiling.  
“Ramsay’s been out his room already this morning. I won’t see him again. I’ll be fine.” Effie insisted.  
“What will you do with your freedom?” Domeric smiled.  
“Probably just practise guitar.” She shrugged, sipping her tea.  
“And you’ll stay away from Locke? Don’t go on the grounds.” He warned.  
“Obviously!” Effie rolled her eyes again. “I’ll be fine. Go. Enjoy your freedom.” She urged. Checking the clock, Domeric headed upstairs to get ready to go out. He seemed eager to go; his usual calm demeanour replaced by childish excitement. Effie barely had time to call out a goodbye to him before he was out the front door.


	48. Remembrance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your faith walks on broken glass  
> And the hangover doesn't pass  
> Nothing's ever built to last  
> You're in ruins

The café was deserted at six in the morning. Deserted, that is, apart from Irri; the Eastern European girl that was sitting at the counter studying the contents of some magazine.  
“Morning Irri.” He yawned, wiping the tiredness from his eyes.  
“What do you want?” She snapped instantly.  
“Woah, what’s with the bad mood?” He asked, too tired to be amused.  
“Time of the month.” She told him, her accent so thick he struggled to understand her with his sleep-deprived brain. “Now what do you want?”  
“Full English, minus the black pudding?” He managed a grin throwing himself down onto a stool at the counter.  
“You be fucking lucky Dance-for-me. Toast and coffee or fuck off.” Irri offered irritably.  
“Toast and coffee it is.”  
“Make that two!” Turning, Damon saw a thin, gaunt faced man he knew only as ‘The Tickler’.  
“Morning Tickles.” Damon chuckled, earning himself a clout around the ear.  
“Less of the cheek Dance-for-me. I’m higher than you.” The man grinned, revealing a set of rotten teeth, taking a seat beside him.  
“You know you’re supposed to sell the drugs, not take them, right?” He joked.  
“I meant in position.” The Tickler rolled his eyes, nicking a sugar lump from a bowl while Irri’s back was turned and popping it in his foul mouth.  
“Morning sweetness.” He called to her.  
“Don’t call me that.” Irri snapped. The Tickler looked to Damon for an explanation and he managed to mouth ‘period’ at him before Irri turned to face them, her hands on her hips.  
“Aw don’t be like that chocolate cake.” The Tickler leered.  
“Racist.” Irri spat at him, slamming their coffees down on the counter. “You were to call three days ago.”  
“Come on babe, you know it’s not that easy. Let The Tickler finish his breakfast then he’ll come and tickle your fancy, eh? Put you in a better mood?” Damon tried his best to hide his disgust. How anyone could have sex with The Tickler he’d never know.  
“No.” Irri replied bluntly. “Time of the month.”  
“There’s two other holes.” The Tickler pointed out, shrugging. After putting two slices of bread in the toaster, she sat back down and carried on reading the magazine. Rolling his eyes at Damon, The Tickler reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of white powder. Waggling his eyebrows, he slid it across the countertop until it caught Irri’s eye.  
“So I am crack whore now?” Irri growled, snatching it up and waving it at him.  
“Only if you take it.” The Tickler pointed out. Rolling her eyes, Irri pocketed the bag. “Drink coffee, Dance-for-me gets your toast.” Damon was quite pleased with that deal, though he would have killed for some bacon. He didn’t want to risk putting Irri in a worse mood and ruining The Tickler’s chances of getting a shag by asking for some.  
“Why must I call you stupid names?” Irri sighed.  
“Just the way it is sweetheart. If someone doesn’t pay up, I tickle them and Dance-for-me makes them dance.” The Tickler grinned at him.  
“They are stupid. You are stupid.” Irri grumbled, still peering at the words in the magazine as though they were Egyptian hieroglyphics and not English.  
“Since when did you start reading?” The Tickler asked, inclining his head towards the magazine.  
“I good reader!” She scowled at him, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.  
“What is it anyway?” The Tickler asked, gulping down his coffee.  
“See yourself.” Irri threw it in their direction and went to see to Damon’s toast. He eyed it hungrily as the fellow dealer beside him studied the magazine. “Oh, looks like crystal Meffie’s out the looney bin.” Damon tore his eyes away from the toast long enough to look at the cover of ‘You’ magazine. It was like a kick in the guts. Effie smiled her Effie smile back at him, and Damon found it impossible to look away. She looked…amazing. Compared to the last time he had seen her anyway. She was a little thinner, and her hair was now red, which didn’t suit her. But she was alive.  
“She seems to have you quite enraptured Dance-for-me.” He snapped out of his trance at the sound of his dealer name.  
“I thought she tried to kill herself.” Damon shrugged, staring down at his toast still in a state of shock. That shock soon gave away to misery. What was it to him now if Effie was alive and well? She didn’t even know who he was, and Ramsay had made it perfectly clear he wasn’t allowed to see her again.  
“Don’t look dead to me. Says here she had depression but her brother’s been helping her and she’s through the worst of it now.” The Tickler shrugged. Damon kept his focus on his plate, so The Tickler wouldn’t see the resentment on his face. “I heard her brother was a complete fucking…knob.” Damon seethed, for lack of a better word. He took a swig of his coffee, grimacing as it burned his tongue and throat.  
“Which one?”  
“Huh?”   
“Which brother? Says here she has two.” Frowning, Damon looked at the magazine as The Tickler began to read aloud.  
“ _She has a man with her that she looks to occasionally_ _for support. ‘That’s Domeric Bolton, my adopted brother, I guess.’ Effie tells me when I ask her who he is. She says it with a fond smile and adds that he is like the brother she never had. It seems odd that I have to point out that she already has a brother, Ramsay. ‘Oh yeah.’ She laughs. ‘I’d almost forgotten.’”_  
“Ouch.” The Tickler says, smirking.  
“Shit.” Damon breathes, horrified. What the fuck was she thinking? Ramsay would go bat shit when he read it.  
“Looks like her and her brother have got some bad blood.” The Tickler chuckled.  
“Are you going to beauty tip swap all day or are we going to fuck?” Irri asked. Sighing, The Tickler downed his coffee, making Damon wince as he recalled how hot his had been.  
“Come on then princess.” The Tickler growled playfully.  
“Hold up!” Damon called before they both disappeared. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a spare room do you Irri?”  
“This is not hotel!” She snapped.  
“I know, I know. I’m just tired of sleeping in my car is all.” He whined.  
“Fine. Rakharo was caught by police last night. You have his room. Last on the left.” She told him brusquely.  
“Cheers Irri.” Damon yelled after her as she dragged The Tickler upstairs. He was left alone in the café with his coffee and breakfast. And the magazine. For a while he tried to ignore it. It was best he just forgot about her like she had him.  
But there was nothing wrong with him checking on her from a distance. Millions will have read the article anyway. What was wrong with him being one of them?  
He found the words oddly comforting, though he knew most of them were lies. It said that she had been struggling with depression long before she was dating Joffrey, and that it was down to personal issues. As if she were to blame for everything. As if she had brought it all upon herself. Damon couldn’t imagine Effie saying any of it, at least not without some sort of gun aimed at her head. There was no mention of him, and why would there be? Effie was telling them only what Roose and Ramsay had probably programmed into her. She didn’t think he existed. Once he had been everything to her, and now he was nothing.  
That thought hurt more than any other, and he flung the magazine off the countertop in a sudden burst of rage. Finishing his breakfast and chugging back the still-too-hot coffee, he headed upstairs for some sleep. He’d been working all night and neither the coffee nor the sound of Irri being “tickled” were enough to prevent him from falling asleep the moment his head hit the pillow.  
His brain refused to allow him rest though, as it often did. It was one of those things that came with a life on the run.  
Today it was different though. Perhaps provoked by the magazine, he dreamt of Effie. It wasn’t like other dreams. There was no narrative to it. It was just…her. It was everything he found endearing about her. The way her cheeks dimpled if she feigned an innocent smile. It was her mess of hair when she woke up. The whimpering sounds and gentle snoring when she slept. Her secretive Effie smile. The valley down her back where her spine was. The dimples at the bottom of her back. How her nipples stood to attention the moment his fingertips grazed them. The way she’d move on top of him, their bodies in perfect sync. How she’d nuzzle into him after. How she liked to trace the tattoo of a cross over his ribcage. The fact her underwear never matched. The way her laugh sounded more like hiccups when she laughed too hard. How she’d tilt her head back drunkenly when she took the first pull of each cigarette. The blue of her eyes. The furrows between her brows when she frowned.  
How had he not paid more attention to these things before?  
Damon awoke with a start to a sharp buzzing sound, and in desperate need of a wank. It took him a moment to realise the buzzing sound was his phone ringing; Damon’s phone, not Dance-for-me’s. He rarely received calls on his own mobile these days, but kept it for when his brother called occasionally. It wasn’t James now though. For half a heartbeat, Damon feared Ramsay had been listening in on his dreams and was calling to let him know he was coming to collect his skin. Nevertheless, Damon answered. He didn’t want to look like a pussy.  
“I thought we weren’t on speaking terms?” He said gruffly.  
Silence. A muffled sob. Silence again.  
“I…” Her voice was broken, fractured by the weight of disbelief and shock. “I wasn’t sure you’d answer.” She choked out.  
“Eff?” His voice was barely a whisper. “Please, tell me you know who I am? You know who I am yeah?” It came out in a nervous rush.  
“How could I forget? You’re Damon.” He could hear her tearful laughter, followed by another sob,  
“Eff, you’re alright, aren’t you? You’re okay?” He asked, suddenly filled with concern. What if Ramsay had read the article and done what he’d predicted and gone ape shit on her?  
“I’m fine.” Effie insisted, her voice a little steadier.  
“Does Ramsay know you’re talking to me?”  
“No.” She answered flatly.  
“How did you get his phone then?”  
“I’m just borrowing it. He’s busy anyway.”  
Damon ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Fucking hell Eff, are you trying to piss him off?” He asked almost angrily. “If he knows you’re talking to me then we’re both fucked.”  
“I just wanted to tell you I remembered you.” Her voice was so small that his anger was quickly extinguished.  
“Why? Why risk it?” He buried his face in his free hand, so worried about what might happen if Ramsay found out.  
There was a long, agonising pause, followed by shuffling. Then he could hear breathing; quick, nervous breaths. He remembered those from her darker days. She was frightened. Something had frightened her  
“Eff?”  
“Because I love you.”  
Damon didn’t even have time to think of an answer before the line went dead.


	49. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His little whispers, "Love me, love me  
> That's all I ask for "Love me, love me."  
> He battered his tiny fists to feel something

She’d panicked. She didn’t mean to say that. But when she heard Ramsay’s bedroom door slam and his feet thundering down the stairs, she’d been crippled by fear and it had been the only thing she could think of in time before she hung up and her door was thrown open.  
“What the fuck is this?” Her brother hissed at her. Only he wasn’t her brother. The monster moved into the room in hulking steps, his eyes fixed on his prey. “What the fuck is _this_?” The beast roared again, waving a magazine over his head. Effie wasn’t even able to register that it was a magazine she’d done an interview for. “He’s been like the brother I never had. _Never fucking had_?” Effie stood up from her place on the bed and backed away, flinching and releasing a frightened squeal as he threw the magazine across the room. Once again, she was too terrified to speak. She had seen her brother angry, countless times, but this was different. Now he wasn’t even her brother. In a pitiful attempt to stop him, she held her hands out in front of her, still clasping his phone. The monster kept coming. He grabbed the hands that shielded her and bent them back until she screamed in pain and the phone clattered to the floor. “Please. Please, Ramsay, stop!” She cried out, panting with fear.  
“That’s my phone. What, you fucking stealing from me now? As if I haven’t fucking given you enough?” His face was inches from hers, his hands switching from her wrists to her neck and then her face and hair, pulling at it and clawing at her scalp, clasping her face between his paws. “You would have fucking died. I could have left you, you ungrateful little bitch, and you would have fucking died.” Effie sobbed out her protests, but the beast was deafened by his own furious howls. “I have done everything I can for you, yet time and time again you fucking. Fuck. Me. Over.” He spelled out, grabbing her scarred wrists and throwing her onto the bed. “You’re mine!” He bellowed as she landed on her stomach. Effie desperately tried to scramble away, but her monster was agile and leapt on top of her. “All these scars,” He spat, twisting her arm to study her cuts. “What did I tell you before? When we took you to the looney bin? I said if you dared hurt yourself again, I’d make you wish you’d managed to fucking kill yourself. I don’t give idle threats, you ungrateful little slut, so now it’s time for a lesson you’ll never fucking forget.”  
Effie was panting in fright as he tore her t-shirt clean in half. Clawing at the sheets, she tried to drag herself out from beneath him, but he grabbed the back of her head and pushed her face into the sheets until she was struggling for oxygen. “Stay.” He growled as though she were his pet. Terrified of what he might do otherwise, she stopped struggling until she felt the kiss of a blade against the flesh of her back.

He could not tell if it was her first time. It never got any easier, and the screams were always as loud as they had been the first time. You could never get used to it; the feeling of cold steel beneath your skin. It was like something you imagined in your nightmares, that feeling of something creeping underneath your flesh. Only it was real. All too real, and the nightmare stayed with you forever.  
In a desperate attempt to muffle her agonised screams and his furious roars, he buried his head beneath blood-stained bedding.  
“Please stop. Please, please stop.” He whimpered, over and over until it became a chant.  
He didn’t want to think about her, because it confused him too much. She was the reason he was here, and he should hate her for that. But then he would remember that she had lived with _him_ her whole life. What awful things had he done to her over the years? And he had never even considered that. He’d never even considered her. She was just Effie the slut, Effie the slag. Whore. Something to laugh at. Something he had tormented. Now he was the tormented one, and her screams tormented him further. They both belonged to him now. He would give anything to have his own brothers and sister back; for them to torment him like they had when he was younger.  
_No. Not me. Theon Greyjoy. Not me. Reek has no family, only master. Reek. It rhymes with weak, freak, and meek.  
_ He sobbed into the sheets, then noticed the screams had stopped. He prayed her heart had stopped too. It seemed like the best they could hope for.

Her back was a bloody mess.   
She was still alive. He had checked it after dragging her out of the pool of her own vomit she had passed out in. Then he hadn’t known what else to do. Ramsay just stared at the torn flesh, occasionally glimpsing the tissue beneath the blood. When the reality of what he’d done hit him, he’d released a dry sob and ran to her bathroom to throw up himself. What the fuck had he been thinking? He’d been angry, but he never thought he’d get that angry at his sister.   
He sat next to her on the bed, like he used to do if their mum had knocked her unconscious, the heels of his hands pressed so hard against his eyes he saw stars in order to stop himself from crying.  
What the hell had he been thinking?  
“Holy shit.” His head whipped around at the sound of Domeric’s voice. The brother he didn’t know didn’t so much as spare him a glance as he rushed towards her. “She’s alive.” Ramsay managed to choke out.  
“Oh, well that’s a fucking relief isn’t it?” The man spat back, checking her pulse for himself as if he didn’t believe Ramsay’s word. His tone stirred what anger remained, but he was too tired to argue back. “Have you called a doctor?” Ramsay stared blankly at him. He hadn’t even thought of that. “For fuck sake.” Domeric muttered under his breath. “Well go on then, fucking call him!” Leaping up onto unsteady feet, Ramsay went and retrieved his phone.  
“Qyburn? We…I…Effie…she’s…” Tired of his inability to think of a whole sentence, Domeric snatched the phone from him.  
“Qyburn, we need you hear immediately.” He said sternly, sounding annoyingly like their father. “Ramsay’s flayed her back.” He flinched at the words but said nothing. “I’m not sure, hold on,” Still not bothering to look at him, Domeric asked “did you sterilise the blade first?” Again, his only reply was a bewildered stare. “For fuck sake, no. No he didn’t.” Domeric snapped. “Okay, as soon as you can please. There’s a lot of blood.” Hanging up, Domeric threw the phone at him and sat down next to Effie on the bed, inspecting the ruined flesh. After a moment, he seemed to remember Ramsay was still there, watching, pale-faced. “I suggest you go upstairs before she wakes up.” He advised coldly. Ramsay opened his mouth to argue but was quickly cut off. “You’ll need time to decide how exactly you are going to explain what you’ve done to father, and pray that he doesn’t do the same to you.” Pursing his lips tight, Ramsay gave a grim nod and glanced at Effie’s still form again. “Don’t fucking look at her.” His breath caught in his throat at Domeric’s words and his eyes grew wide.  
_Don’t look at her. Get out. You sick fuck, don’t look at her!  
_ Clamping his eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to drown out his mother’s voice, Ramsay fled the room.

Effie didn’t want Qyburn’s hands on her, but the pain was too great for her to protest. Gripping Domeric’s hand so tight she thought his fingers would snap, she begged him not to leave her side as Qyburn readied needle after needle. As usual, Domeric seemed to understand her fears without asking for an explanation, and demanded the doctor tell them what each drug would do and what the side effects might be. The pain eased a little after a while, but Effie refused to tell Domeric anything about what happened until Qyburn was gone. The doctor left them with cream and painkillers, and advised her what clothing might irritate the exposed tissue. It turned out practically all her clothes hurt. Ramsay had had the courtesy to only flay parts of her lower back, so she was at least able to wear a bra without any trouble. That evening, while Domeric was making dinner, Effie sat at the table in a crop top and joggers and told him what happened. She even told him about calling Damon.  
“Ramsay told me not to, but…I wanted to talk to him. I needed him to know I remembered.” She told him, her voice flat and lifeless.  
“And what did he say?”  
“That it was stupid.” She summarised flatly. Domeric said nothing to that. “What’s wrong?” She asked when she saw the look of misery on his face.  
“I just…I’m so sorry. I should never have left you alone here.” He said, covering his face with his hands.  
“Hey,” She stood up, suddenly afraid he might cry. She couldn’t recall anyone crying over her before. “Hey, I’ll be okay. It wasn’t your fault. I told you to go, remember?”  
“I know, but I shouldn’t have. Or I should have at least taken you with me. It was irresponsible of me to just _leave_ you here.” Domeric seemed surprised when he felt her arms around him.  
“I’m _fine_ , okay?” She assured him. After a while, he tentatively hugged her back, mindful of her sore flesh.  
“Is there anything I can do? You know, to make up for this?” He asked. Effie stepped back, taking a deep breath. “There was…one thing.” She admitted. Then, suddenly determined, she raised her eyes up to meet his. “Help me.” Effie implored. “We can get out of here, before Roose comes back. I can’t stay here anymore. They’ve driven me to the edge once already. I can’t let it happen again…”  
“Effie…”  
“No, I know it’s madness. But you’ve done it before, right? We can just leave. Ramsay probably won’t even notice. I don’t care where we go. It doesn’t matter. But please, just help me get out.” She was oblivious to the fact she was gripping his arm painfully tightly. Her eyes had grown wide with desperation and for one, joyful moment, she’d dared to hope he’d say yes.  
“It’s not that simple Effie. My reason for leaving father…it was more a mutual agreement than just running away. Besides, it’s different for you. He sees you as his property. He wouldn’t never stop looking for you. Do you have any idea what it’s like? To forever be watching your back?”  
“I don’t care…”  
“You would, if you knew what it meant. And I’m so, so sorry, but I can’t leave. Not yet. There are things I need to do first.” His guilty look did nothing to quench the sense of betrayal she felt. Letting go of his arm, she slowly backed away.  
“No one cares, do they? Nobody!” She yelled, tears stinging her eyes.  
“I do, Effie…”  
“No. And I don’t know why I ever thought you might. I don’t know why I expected you to. I can’t get out by myself, I know that. But I will one day. One way or another, I refuse to be Roose Bolton’s property for the rest of my life. And if you don’t help me, I’ll find someone who will.” Effie vowed. Before Domeric could even attempt to reconcile with her, she marched from the room, drawing up a plan in her mind.


	50. Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so fall into my eyes and fall into my lies  
> but don't you forget  
> the more you turn away, the more I want you to stay

When Domeric had suggested she ask father for a rest until her back had healed more, she brushed him aside. “No point waiting for my scars to heal. They never do. People just like to tear them open again or make new ones.” She’d told him bitterly. So she continued to see Roose’s clients. They all either ignored the lack of flesh on her back or used it for their own pleasure.  
Effie bit back the pain as best she could, and screamed when it got too much. As usual Domeric came to her afterwards to check she was okay, but now she would brush him off and tell him to leave her alone, which he always did. Perhaps he thought she just needed her space.  
The only client who treated her wounds with consideration was Petyr. He allowed her on top of him so that her back was not pressed into the sheets, closing his eyes so that he could carry on his fantasies. It was after one of these easier times that Effie spoke without permission. “Petyr, I need your help.” She told him, her voice hushed and secretive. He said nothing, but she knew he was listening. “I know you aren’t someone to be trusted, so perhaps you’ll understand how desperate I am.” Effie stifled a smile when he turned to look at her, his eyes gone from lifeless to intrigued in a matter of seconds.  
“What is it you need help with?” He asked.  
“I want to get out of here, away from Roose. Away from all of them. But I can’t do it alone.” Effie confessed, her eyes never leaving his.  
“And what makes you think I’d help you? What are you to me?” He shrugged. It didn’t hurt. She sensed being something to Littlefinger wasn’t something she should ever attempt to be. “I’m nothing.” She admitted bluntly. “But I can give you things that you want.”  
“You do that already and I don’t owe you anything.” His amusement irked her but she did her best not to show it.  
“Not those sort of things.” She said, smirking.  
“Okay then, what?” He seemed to be carrying on the conversation just for entertainment purposes. Standing, he shrugged into his shirt and buttoned it up before crossing his arms nonchalantly.  
“Information.” He arched a brow. “Before I became a ‘bad investment’, I saw more…important clients. Some had interesting tastes, and all men like to talk when they’re happy.”  
“Who?” He tilted forward slightly.  
“I’ll tell you, if you help me.” Effie bargained, continuing to smile her customary smile, though there was something more wicked there than usual. Petyr sat back down on the bed and patted her ankle, his manner neither comforting nor reassuring. “I would like to keep my skin, something I would not do if I stole one of Roose’s most prized possessions. Why should I risk that?” His voice was quiet and cruel, but they hurt no more than Ramsay’s blade had.  
“Because you hate him.” It was her last resort, but she knew it was fruitless. Why would Petyr help her? She was just a thing to him. She wouldn’t risk her skin for him either, in truth. Even so, Petyr’s next words surprised her. “Inform Roose that I will not be visiting again. He can consider the debt paid. You have done well, Effie.” She stared at him in disbelief. This had not been something she was expecting. As he continued to dress, Effie threw herself back down onto the bed like a sulking child, and pulled the duvet up to her chin. She didn’t even mutter a goodbye.  
It wasn’t until later when she finally crawled out from beneath the sheets, intent on cutting herself just once more, that she noticed something on her dressing table. Upon inspection, she found a business card with the words ‘be clever about it’ scrawled on the back, along with some sort of parting gift; a silver broach in the shape of a mockingbird.

Domeric woke her up the next day as usual, placing a cup of tea on her bedside table. “Come on, get up, get dressed. We’re going out.” He informed her brusquely. Peering out from beneath the covers, Effie found him practically bouncing with excitement.  
“Where?” She asked, her voice a muffled moan.  
“Just out. You can’t stay in bed all day.” He insisted.  
“I’ve done it before. Never underestimate my ability to idle.” Effie argued, pulling the covers back up and over her head. To her surprise, Domeric didn’t back down. He pulled the covers done just enough to expose her face. “Argh, what?” Effie barked, now irritated by his insistence.   
“Downstairs in ten minutes. Dressed and ready to go out. Trousers would be best, and bring your coat.” And with that last command, he left the room with boundless energy still intact. Sensing that he wouldn’t give up until she did, Effie rolled out of bed. Up until now, Effie had been living in dresses as her hunger strike meant she couldn’t fit into much else. The only trousers she found that didn’t fall straight back down again were a pair of jeans that had rips from thigh to mid-calf, but they’d have to do. She still needed a belt to stop them from falling down.  
“Are you going to give me some kind of fucked up hint where the fuck it is we’re going?” She snapped upon arriving in the kitchen.  
“I’m going to see an old friend and I’m not going to leave you behind again.” Effie rolled her eyes as he put a bowl of cereal down in front of her.  
“We haven’t even _seen_ Ramsay since then.” She sighed. Not that she was complaining. Effie was quite content not to see her brother ever again.  
“Even so, I’m not taking any chances.” Domeric said. He didn’t sit down and waited for her to finish her cereal, which she made sure to do painfully slowly.   
“What the fuck are you wearing?” He looked ridiculous, stood in the kitchen in long black boots and tight trousers. Yet he seemed quite comfortable and laughed at her words. “Believe me, where we’re going, _you’ll_ look like the weirdo.” Domeric grinned.

Effie had no clue where they were going right up until Domeric turned down a very posh looking driveway. Oak trees lined the road, and beyond those were white fences, and beyond those were horses. Lots of them. Huge, leggy beasts. They all wore rugs to protect them from the cold as their breed was not built for it. “Thoroughbreds.” Domeric informed, as if she was supposed to know what that meant.  
“Why the fuck did you bring me here?” She asked dully, wrinkling her nose at the animals. Domeric didn’t answer, and carried on driving until they reached a car park. Effie had never been to a stable yard before, and was shocked by how clean and neat everything was. “Seriously, what the fuck are we doing at a stable yard?” Domeric leapt from the car. Effie didn’t move, so he came around and opened the door for her. “It’s a racing yard actually.” He said, smiling wistfully.  
“I’m not getting out.” She crossed her arms childishly.  
“Why not?” He chuckled.  
“I hate horses, that’s why.” Effie spat, her eyes watching one distrustfully as it was led past them. This time, Domeric did look slightly wounded. “How can you hate them?”  
“Because I fell off of one.” She admitted sullenly. Domeric began to laugh. “It’s not funny! It was horrible!” And still he carried on laughing at her until she punched him in the stomach.   
“Ow! Sorry, it’s just everyone falls off Eff! You know, riders say you can’t call yourself a rider until you’ve fallen off seven times.” He said innocently.  
“So it’s okay for me to be thrown off horses, but cutting myself isn’t? They both come with a death warrant don’t they?” The stink of horse was filling the car, making her feel queasy.  
“Come on, you don’t have to ride any of them. You don’t even have to touch one.” Before Effie could argue further, someone called out Domeric’s name, and they both turned to see a man about Domeric’s age limping towards them, leaning heavily on a cane. “Willas! Good to see you again.” Domeric grinned and they both shook hands before hugging.   
“I knew you’d come back after I offered you a ride.” Willas laughed.  
“How could I not? I brought my sister along too. Effie, this is Willas Tyrell, he owns the place.” The blood drained from Effie’s face as she recalled Margaery telling her about her brother who owned a racing yard.   
“Nice to meet you Effie. I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” Willas smiled kindly. Clearly he hadn’t heard much from Margaery.  
“Really?” Effie asked, confused.  
“Yes. My grandmother spoke very highly of you when I went and visited her.” She remembered the sharp old lady she had met when they’d visited the home that time, and had admired the way she spoke to Mrs Dustin so brazenly. It had been a relief to see there was someone that could melt the cold bitch, but Effie wasn’t about to say that in front of Domeric.  
“You coming for a ride?” Willas asked her. She looked Domeric up and down, then noticed Willas was dressed in a similar fashion. “I don’t have the right shoes.” Effie said dryly, making them both laugh.  
“Effie’s just here for a bit of fresh air.” Domeric told Willas. She wasn’t in the mood to thank him for covering her. “Yeah, fresh air.” Effie repeated, pulling out her box of fags and putting one between her lips, only to have it plucked out again.  
“No smoking around the stables, I’m afraid. Fire hazard. Feel free to go down the drive and do it though.” Willas offered, not unkindly. Snatching her fag back from him, Effie leapt out of the car. “Fine, I’ll catch you up.” She told them through gritted teeth.  
“We’ll just be in that stable block over there.” Domeric told her. Shrugging, Effie carried on towards the driveway they had just come down, lighting her fag as soon as possible. The scent of horse alone sparked memories she’d rather forget, and Effie found herself leaning against a fence for support. She could still remember the look on Ramsay’s face as she stared up at him, lying flat on her back, wind knocked from her lungs so that she was struggling to breathe. “Still want to ride horses?” He’d asked with an ugly smile. His voice filled her head and Effie found herself taking deeper and deeper pulls of her cigarette until she felt dizzy. Upon sensing a presence behind her, Effie span around, fearing she’d see Ramsay stood in the field behind her. It was just a horse though; its ears pricked forward and twitching, watching her intently. “What the fuck do you want?” She snapped, then she felt stupid. It was a horse. It couldn’t speak English. Effie carried on smoking and tried to ignore the beast, but it just kept watching her; studying her every move. Judging her. “Can you fuck off?” Effie asked it, waving an arm. The horse remained unmoving. It reminded her of the horse she had fallen off of; a great ginger beast. It didn’t look like the others in the field. Even with its rug on, she could tell it wasn’t as toned, and its legs weren’t as straight. The others all stood in a herd beneath a cluster of trees, shielding each other from the wind. This one was alone.  
“I haven’t got anything for you.” Effie told it. The horse blinked. Its eyes were kind. She wasn’t sure what made them so, but they were.  
Having finished her fag, Effie stamped it into the mud and headed back down the driveway. She couldn’t help but smirk when she realised the horse was following her; striding languorously along just behind her. “I’m not going to pet you. Go find some friends.” She called to it. Eventually, the horse reached the end of its paddock, but he watched her go right up until she was inside the stable block Domeric had gestured to earlier.   
She found them both at the far end of the aisle, which opened into some sort of training pen. Inside a woman was driving a horse around on the end of a long rope, giving it a lick of the whip when it refused to move forward, which it was currently doing, quite adamantly. “She’s lovely isn’t she?” Willas asked as though they were admiring a supermodel.  
“Yeah.” Domeric sighed.  
“Why don’t you just get your porn on the internet like normal people? I’m sure you can find a site for bestiality somewhere.” Effie piped up, smiling wickedly. Inside the arena, the horse was now galloping, throwing in bucks occasionally and snaking its head towards the woman holding it. “Looks like I’m not the only one in a bad mood.” She said, inclining her head towards the horse and jumping back when its hoof struck the wooden gate they were stood behind.  
“She’ll be okay. She just needs time.” Willas told them, as if that was supposed to make any sense.  
“Will she ever race again?” Domeric asked, his expression solemn.  
“Probably not.” The yard owner admitted with a grim shrug. “It’s a shame. She was a good runner.”  
“Then what’s the point?” Effie chimed in. “What’s the point of training her and shit if she’s not going to be able to do anything?”  
Domeric turned to look at her with the same solemn frown he had given the horse. “You don’t throw a whole life away just because it’s banged up a little.”


	51. College

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wasn't it easier in your firefly-catchin' days?  
> When everything out of reach, someone bigger brought down to you  
> Wasn't it beautiful runnin' wild 'til you fell asleep  
> Before the monsters caught up to you?

Being back at college was odd to say the least. Even though the place was deserted due to the fact Domeric had dropped her off early, she still found it strange to just be there. So much had happened. It felt so…normal. Frighteningly so.   
Effie sat on a bench in the smoking area, watching as the trickle of students began to turn from a stream to a river. Hardly any of them noticed her, and why should they? It seemed to her that she barely knew any of their faces, and a thought suddenly occurred that they would have changed too. It had been summer, the last time she’d been to college, and now winter had come and Christmas and new year had passed, leaving the long wait for spring to fall heavily on their shoulders, knowing that though spring brought warmth, it also brought exams and, for some, the inevitability of having to grow the fuck up.  
“Effie?” Closing her eyes, Effie prayed the girl was calling out to someone else who had taken her name. “Oh my god! Effie, hi! I can’t believe you’re back…I mean, I haven’t heard about it anywhere!” Forcing herself to open her eyes and get her head out of the sand, Effie looked up to see Myranda stood over her. Her earlier thoughts concerning people changing was embodied by Myranda.   
Her once dyed deep red hair was now dark brown, and her once colourful look was now muted to blacks and greys, very similar to Effie’s own wardrobe. Her makeup was heavy, and looked as if it hadn’t been redone for days. In truth, the look didn’t really suit her. She was too bubbly for it. But Effie didn’t really give three fucks about what the girl wore.  
“Are you a smoker now? Sweet. Me too!” Myranda squeaked. Effie just carried on smoking and watching the students pour in through the gates, each looking more miserable than the last.   
“So, how have you been? Besides the obvious. Sorry, that was a silly question, wasn’t it? I can’t believe the things you’ve gone through. You should read the stuff in the papers. Some of it was totally crazy! Definitely made up. Not that I believe that shit anyways.” Myranda shrugged, lighting her own cigarette. “Let’s see, what was happening when we last saw each other…oh yeah! I dumped Marillion, thank fuck. Total fuckboy. Plus he got crazy mad when drunk and he actually hit me once, can you believe that? Any guy who hits a woman is a monster, and I don’t date monsters, as a rule. I’ve got a new boyfriend now, Ronnie. Total dream. Quite a bit older but he’s totally what I need. It’s so nice to finally be able to have mature conversations with a guy. Plus…” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “He’s a dealer. I get shit whenever I want.” Myranda whispered.  
“Cool.” Effie said flatly.  
“You should totally come out with us sometime! Ronnie’s got a brother who could totally do with getting laid. He’s not all that looks wise but…well…your standards have fallen a little.”  
Effie arched a brow.  
“I’m not being mean or anything but I saw the pictures of that guy you were with the day you attempted suicide and, seriously, you could do _so_ much better.”  
She pursed her lips.  
“I mean…he was okay looking, in a thuggish Jack O’Connell kind of way. But him after Joffrey Baratheon? You totally lost your nut.” Myranda tried to make it into a joke, but Effie had given up listening altogether; her attention now distracted by one of the students breaking out of the shoal and heading towards them.  
“Hi Effie.” Podrick said tentatively.  
“Hey Pod.” She replied gently, glad that he had managed to pluck up enough courage to come and see her, even if his greeting was directed at his shoes.  
“It’s could to see you batt…beck…back. Better and back. Argh, bollocks.” He cursed under his breath. Beside her, Myranda snorted with laughter, making Podrick’s face turn redder.  
“Thanks.” Effie ignored the giggling girl and continued to smile gratefully. “Maybe you could help me catch up with the Angevins?” She asked, sensing Podrick would not dare to say more of his own accord with Myranda there. Finally lifting his gaze to meet hers, Podrick smiled shyly. “Yeah…yeah, sure…that’d be cool.” He stammered.  
“Sweet. I’ll meet you in the library at lunchtime?” She suggested.  
“Yeah, sure…cool.” Podrick slowly backed away, seemingly stunned by the fact she was actually speaking to him even though he had seen her tits only a few weeks ago. So blinded by his awe was he that he managed to fall backwards over a low bush and land ungracefully on his arse.  
“Oh god…that’s so tragic!” Myranda hooted with laughter, gaining more and more attention until most of the crowd were laughing at Podrick, who desperately scrabbled around and tried to stuff his things back into his bag. Effie turned and looked at the laughing Myranda without so much as a smile on her face. “You know you look like a horse when you laugh like down your nose like that.” She pointed out bluntly, before stamping out her fag and heading towards the college, successfully pulling the attention off of Podrick as she did so.

Podrick was waiting for her when Effie arrived in the library at lunch time; sat at a desk for two, nervously flicking through books and jumping in his chair when Effie sat down beside him. “You hungry?” She asked him, pulling out a box of sandwiches she’d bought from the refectory. Before he could stammer out any words, Effie practically forced a sandwich into his trembling hands. “We aren’t supposed to eat in here.” He told her, eyeing the hawk-eyed librarian at the front desk. Effie just shrugged and carried on eating anyways. “Let’s get started shall we?” She asked, pulling a book on Henry II towards them and turning it to the first page.      
Podrick, as it turned out, was remarkably good at teaching history. The moment he began explaining things, his stammer and trembling hands disappeared and he became more animated than Effie had ever seen him. He didn’t even notice when people stared at them; wondering about how this unlikely study pair came to be. Effie didn’t point them out to him, fearing it might knock his confidence again. Besides, she was too busy trying to cram all the facts; writing them all down until her arm felt like it was about to drop off. Lunch time was over too quickly, and they weren’t caught up with everything yet but agreed to meet again the next day.  
“Have you applied for any universities yet?” Podrick asked her. It seemed ridiculous that something so simple and general as university saddened her, and made her realise that she might never have the normal life Podrick could, though Petyr had given her a small glimmer of hope for one.  
“No. I don’t know if I’d be allowed.” That made Podrick turn red as he recalled what occurred behind closed doors. “What about you?” She asked, though the thought of Podrick moving away saddened her.  
“I got an unconditional offer from Aberystwyth to study Medieval History.” He admitted somewhat shyly, clearly afraid of upsetting her. Effie feigned a smile. “That’s awesome! They’ll be lucky to have you!” Collecting up their bags, they began to head out the library in silence, side by side, until Effie heard a voice that made her stop dead in her tracks. It was a little disjointed, but it was definitely him. She span around to Pod. “Has Jojen Reed come back to college?” She asked, her eyes wide with shock.  
“Um…yeah, though he sort of had to learn everything again. And he, you know, has a p…prosthetic leg, you know, after the car.” Podrick stammered. Effie was gone in an instant, following the broken voice.  
She found him sat at a desk in a quiet corner, his sister Meera sat beside him trying to help him to read. “Jojen?” Her voice was barely higher than a whisper. Amongst everything that had happened to her, she still remembered learning of what had become of the boy who had been her closest friend. But now, when he looked up, there wasn’t the slightest hint of recognition in his eyes. Meera also looked up, and turned her gaze from Jojen to Effie, her eyes sad when she also saw that her brother hadn’t recognised her. Swallowing nervously, Effie moved towards them. She wasn’t going to lose him too. He might be broken, but broken things could be fixed.  
“Hey Jojen.” She said shakily with a gentle smile. Glancing at Meera, she relaxed a little when she saw her nod and smile; telling her she was doing the right thing.  
“Um…hi?” Jojen replied with a voice that sounded so unlike his own.   
“Jojen, this is Effie Snow. Do you remember her at all?” Jojen looked blankly from Meera to Effie, furrowing his brow in concentration.  
“I remember seeing her face in papers.” He said in that flat, lifeless voice. Effie’s heart sank a little, but she forced herself to be grateful that he could remember her at all. “Yeah, I’ve been in them quite a bit recently.” Effie told him, discarding the fake gentle voice she had approached earlier. Jojen might not remember her, but she’d try her damn hardest to try and make things normal again, and she couldn’t do that whilst stepping on egg shells.  
Jojen, it seemed, wanted to take the same brazen approach. “Didn’t you try to kill yourself?” He asked bluntly.  
“Jojen!” Meera gasped. For a moment, there was an awkward silence before Effie broke into laughter. Jojen followed suit. They both laughed together, like they used to before, until both of them seemed to recall they had very little to laugh about and stopped. They all stood in silence again, and Effie was about to turn and walk away when Jojen spoke up. “I _will_ remember everything.” He said determinedly, balling his hands into fists. That made Effie smile her Effie smile. “I know.” She replied, before turning away from them both and walking back over to Podrick, who was watching Jojen with the same look one would use when they looked at a puppy in the kennels. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Jojen speak before. He seems nice.” Podrick smiled gently.  
“He’s not nice. He’s amazing.” Effie replied bluntly, walking past him so he wouldn’t glimpse the tears on her cheeks.

It wasn’t until Effie was sat outside on the benches again, smoking and remaining completely oblivious to Myranda’s mindless prattle, that she noticed something. Across the road, beside the bus stop, was a phone box.  
_Be clever about it._  
Of course. She couldn’t call Petyr with her phone. Roose could find out somehow. But a phone box…it would be almost impossible for him to trace her call.  
“Effie? Effie!” Myranda’s piercing tones pulled her out of her thoughts and she actually managed to turn and listen to her.  
“What?”  
“We’re going out this Friday.” Myranda told her, rolling her eyes.  
“What? Who is?” Effie asked, turning back to stare at the phone box, as though she were afraid it might disappear.  
“Ronnie and his mates for fuck sake! We’re going out on the town on Friday. It’s a fancy dress thing too, just to make us harder to recognise for, you know, when we break the law.” The girl said in a hushed whisper. “I’ll bring your costume and we could get ready at yours? Then Ronnie’s brother can finally get some too. You definitely need to get out more!” She laughed. Effie forced a smile, then stood up abruptly. “Fine. My house after college on Friday. Bye.” Before Myranda could start talking again, Effie stamped out her cigarette and shrugged her bag onto her shoulder. Ignoring any stares, Effie headed straight to the phone box, and pulled Petyr’s card out from her purse.  
“Petyr Baelish speaking.” She refused to allow herself to breathe a sigh of relieved. Baelish was not someone she should be relieved to hear.  
“It’s Effie.” She said flatly.  
“Where are you calling from?” He asked. Just as she was about to tell him, she stopped herself. Baelish might be offering to help her, but he had known Roose far longer. For all she knew, he could be passing on information, and she shuddered to think what Roose would do to her if he found out she was trying to escape.  
“Well it’s not my mobile if that’s what you’re worried about.” Effie told him, smiling wickedly to herself.  
“No, it’s the phone box opposite your college.” Her smile quickly fell away, and she frantically looked around, expecting to see Petyr smirking at her from amongst the crowd of students at the bus stop.  
“Where are you?” She hissed angrily, annoyed that he had outsmarted her. From the other side of the line, she heard Petyr chuckle. “Not there, but I have people everywhere Effie.”   
“Okay, so did I pass the test? Am I clever enough for you?” She snapped, tired of this MI5 shit.  
“You’re cleverer than most whores I know.” Petyr admitted.  
“Know a lot then do you?” Effie grumbled, disliking the fact he still only considered her as a whore.  
“Quite a few.”  
“Do you get the others to dye their hair red too?” The silence on his end told her that she had said too much. She never could keep her mouth shut.  
“Petyr…”  
“Goodbye, Miss Snow.” Her heart sank as the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry for the lack of updates! It's been my first week at uni and I've been pretty busy but I'll try to update more now that things are settled.


	52. Joker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know how I got here  
> But we cannot get out  
> I’m surrounded by strangers  
> As the music starts to pound

For Domeric’s sake, Effie forced herself to feign cheerfulness when he picked her up, and told him about how good her day had been. Whether he believed it or not, she didn’t notice; staring out of the window instead and thinking about the opportunity of escape she had lost because of her big mouth. What would she do now? There was no one else. The clients she received now weren’t powerful enough, and most likely too fearful of Roose to even attempt to help her. Not that they even cared enough to help her anyway. She was completely alone, and recalled how she had felt when she was alone before. Already the voices in her head had begun to whisper a little louder, and she could feel the faces lingering as well.  
Once home, Effie told Domeric she was tired and was heading to bed straight away. He didn’t argue, not even when she told him she was skipping dinner. Her cheeks ached from the strain of smiling, and Effie was relieved when she could finally drop the smile, slump her shoulders, and head upstairs. A part of her still held some small hope; Roose couldn’t keep her like this forever, could he? She was still a human after all. She could prove herself clever in other ways, perhaps. Her life might not be so bad if she had a relatively normal job and some independence.  
But Effie knew it was a faint hope. Petyr had been fucking her for only a matter of weeks and he had only ever viewed her as a thing. Roose had owned her for four years. Any hope she ever had was pointless.  
Effie was so miserable that she didn’t even notice she wasn’t alone until the door to her den was firmly shut behind her. “Good day at college?” Ramsay was sat on her desk chair; his feet up on her desk, twiddling a pen between his fingers. Effie wanted to cry. She hadn’t seen him since that day where he had stripped her back of skin, and now he was here to make her hellish day even worse.  
“What the fuck do you…you know what? I don’t even care. Just get the fuck out.” Effie snapped, throwing her bag down onto the floor.  
“Come on Eff…you know I’m sorry.” Ramsay sighed, looking genuinely wounded. It did nothing to curb Effie’s anger. “Sorry? Really? Because I haven’t heard you and to be honest it wouldn’t make the slightest difference. Now do me a favour and fuck the fuck off!” She yelled, glancing around for something she could throw at him. Despite her anger, she was still unable to prevent herself from flinching when he leapt up from her chair. The fear was only there for a moment though before she reminded herself that she needed to be brave.   
“What? Come for another go? Which body part would you like? Do me a favour and go for the wrists would you? They’re fragile. You might actually manage to do what I’ve wanted to for years.” For a second she thought he really would, or would at least strike her. But he didn’t. Instead, the man whom she’d seen become a monster, slumped and became her brother once more. “What happened to you?” He asked her, his voice empty.  
Effie searched for the right words, but they were all messed up. There was a part of her that wanted to make that hurt look on his face go away. But she could sense that part of her slowly dying; being smothered by the part of her that made her answer with “You.”   
Her eyes were a cold, icy blue. Her voice was colder still. Almost cruel. For a moment she feared she might be becoming like her mother. But Ramsay was a monster, and was it possible to destroy a monster without becoming one?  
There was a tear on her cheek and she quickly brushed it away. Her lower lip quivered and she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “Fine.” Ramsay spat, attempting to use his anger to smother the hurt he felt. “Whatever. So yeah, I fucking hurt you. I also brought you up. Looked after you. Did everything I fucking could for you. But fine. Fuck you.” He hissed, his face so close she felt spittle land on her nose.   
“And haven’t you done a fine job!” Effie couldn’t stop herself from throwing that at him. The anger was burning the both of them, but neither would be the first to back out of the flames. “You have no idea how much I want to forgive you. How much I want things to be okay between us again. But I can’t, Ramsay, because I’m a _person_. I’m not your fucking property, I’m your sister. And if you can’t understand that then I’m going to have to fight you until it fucking sinks in.” She told him, her voice quiet and as threatening as it could be. Of course she hadn’t expected Ramsay to back down if she was threatening him. Stepping forward, he grinned; lips stretching over pearly white teeth menacingly. “Good luck with that.” Ramsay sneered, before pushing her out of the way and finally leaving her alone to cry.

For the rest of the week, Effie felt nothing but a familiar sense of hopelessness. She went to college, did her work, came home. That was it. Though as Friday drew closer, and Effie was constantly reminded by Myranda that they were going out with Myranda’s boyfriend, Effie oddly found herself getting excited about going out. She remembered all the fun times she’d had sneaking out with the girls at Barrowton, and though Myranda wasn’t quite the same, she still couldn’t wait to go out and get absolutely smashed. She hadn’t told Domeric she was going out; wanting that thrill she used to get every time they used to sneak out at Barrowton. He probably wouldn’t notice anyway.  
Friday seemed to drag, and Effie was almost relieved when she spotted Myranda stood at the gates; practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, craning her neck and beaming when she spotted Effie. Effie even made an effort to smile back.  
“Hiya! So I got the costumes and shit. We still going to yours?” Myranda babbled.  
“Sure.” Effie shrugged, lighting a fag.  
“Well let’s go then!” Effie had managed to get Domeric to let her start getting the buses home, though she missed his stories and calm voice. Even listening to Ramsay’s bullshit would have been better than listening to the crap spilling out of Myranda’s mouth.  
“So Ronnie said the theme for dress up was superheroes and supervillains and shit, because, you know, they wear masks and stuff. So I told Ronnie we should go as Batman and Catwoman. He suggested you go as Harley Quinn, because, you know, she’s crazy! So I got the costumes…though yours is sort of thrown together because it was so short notice…so it’s just shorts and a t-shirt, but they’re all colourful and shit…I can do your make up too. And of course you have to have your hair dyed and up in bunches.”   
“Dyed?” Effie didn’t want her hair dyed again.  
“Just that spray on stuff. It’ll wash off.” Myranda shrugged.  
That was all Effie got to say on the matter. Her head was aching by the time they got off the bus, and she was in dire need of alcohol. The walk to the house was a long one.  
Myranda did shut up when Effie brought her into the kitchen and she caught sight of Domeric. He stood up, smiling, while Myranda gave him a doe-eyed look. Effie didn’t fail to notice her looking him up and down.  
“Tea?” Effie asked, moving over to the kettle.  
“Hi.” Myranda said, ignoring her offer and holding her hand out to Domeric, who took it gallantly.  
“Domeric, Myranda. Myranda, Domeric.” Effie felt obligated to introduce them. Myranda still didn’t spare her a glance. “You must be the brother.” She gushed.  
“One of them, yes.” Domeric glanced at Effie, his eyes twinkled with amusement at Myranda’s blatant attempt at flirting.  
“Yeah, I read about you and stuff. You’re the nice one right?” She laughed, trying to make a joke apparently. Domeric looked unsure what to say to that, so Effie intervened. “You been riding?” She asked him, tilting his head towards him and looking at his jodhpurs.   
“Yeah.” Domeric said, moving away from Myranda.  
“You like horse riding?” Myranda piped up, stepping towards him again. “I _love_ riding.”  
“Oh jesus.” Effie muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. “Come on.” Her voice was piercing, and actually managed to cut through Myranda’s lust-addled thoughts. She turned, looking slightly irked, and began to follow Effie from the room. They just reached the doorway when Ramsay appeared; wearing only his boxer shorts. His bare torso was spattered with blood. His face told Effie exactly what mood he was in, and it wasn’t a good one.  
“Who’s this?” He asked, staring blankly at Myranda. To Effie’s horror, Myranda smiled a sultry smile. “I’m Myranda.” She told him. Ramsay looked her up and down, then turned to look at Effie and grinned. “Not another one.” He chuckled. Rolling her eyes, Effie tried to push past him, but he shoved her back. “Where you going?”  
“We’re…”  
“Girls night in.” Effie cut Myranda off sharply, meeting Ramsay’s gaze. Her brother’s grin widened, and his eyes wandered back over to Myranda. “Maybe I’ll join you later.” He arched a brow suggestively.  
“Piss off.” Effie spat, pushing against him again with more force this time. Weary from whatever the fuck he’d been doing, Ramsay staggered back out of the way long enough for the both of them to pass. Her feet pounded the stairs as she hurried up to her room; now desperate for a decent drink.  
“Your brothers are fit. As. Fuck.” Myranda breathed. Effie turned around and just stared at her for a moment. “I mean, I know they’re your brothers and everything, but I _so_ would. Ramsay’s your actual brother, right?”  
“Yes.” Effie replied flatly, turning to continue on up the stairs.  
“Why was he covered in blood?” Effie smirked to herself, and span around to face her again. “Because my brother is keeping a male sex slave in his bedroom, and he’s _really_ into heavy BDSM.” She told her, mimicking Myranda’s boundless enthusiasm. Myranda’s eyes went wide as saucers, and her mouth gaped open. For once, she was speechless.  
Glad that her ears finally had a chance to rest, Effie carried on up the stairs, not bothering to wait for Myranda who was still frozen in shock.

Effie had never been one to care about what she looked like. For most of her life she had been going out in dresses so short her arse fell out of them. But now, stood in front of the mirror, Effie felt ridiculous.  
“I look stupid.” She muttered.  
“You look fine!” Myranda assured, spraying on the hair dye; red onto the tips of one of her bunches, blue on the other. For the past hour, Effie seemed to become Myranda’s little doll. She’d been dressed up in a torn up t-shirt, the shortest shorts she’d ever worn, and fishnet stockings. Thankfully she’d been allowed the mercy of wearing Doc Martins instead of heels. Her face was painted white, her lips smeared red, and her eye liner smeared to look as though she’d been crying. “Because you’re missing your Joker of course!” For some reason, Effie couldn’t help but think of Damon. He had always made her laugh. Even in her darker days, the best memories were that of Damon making her laugh.  
“I tried to get Vic, Ronnie’s brother, to dress up as the Joker but he was having none of it.” Myranda shrugged, cutting through Effie’s bittersweet thoughts.  
Now that Effie seemed to be ready, it was Myranda’s turn, and she left Effie to stand and loathe her costume in the mirror.  
“Can you help me zip this up?” Upon looking, Effie found Myranda desperately stuffing herself into a skin tight cat suit. Myranda stood with her back to her, and pulled her hair out of the way. That was when Effie noticed the mark at the nape of her neck. “What’s that?” Effie asked, moving in to zip her costume up. It wasn’t a tattoo. It was much deeper. Upon closer inspection, Effie discovered it had been carved into her skin. It was no bigger than the flat of Effie’s hand, but it still horrified and intrigued her. It seemed to be a carving of some sort of large squid, which seemed more than a little familiar, though Effie couldn’t remember why.  
“Ronnie did it himself. I’m his forever. It’s romantic.” Myranda giggled, stepping away when she sensed Effie was done.  
“You let him carve into your skin?” She stared at the spot where she had seen the mark.  
“Yeah. I love him, he loves me.” Myranda shrugged. “Anyway, how do I look?”  
Effie couldn’t lie. She looked amazing. Myranda wasn’t a particularly slim girl, but it held her in in all the right places. “Awesome.” Effie told her.  
“Great! Let’s go!” Myranda grabbed her hand and began to pull her towards the door, but Effie twisted out of her grasp.  
“Not that way!” She told her.  
“It’s the way out?” Myranda laughed.  
“I know, but I haven’t told Domeric I’m going out.” She confessed, moving towards her drawers and pulling out a bottle of vodka and taking a long swig.  
“Fine. So how _are_ we getting out?” Smiling her Effie smile, she took another swig and glanced over at the window. “No. Fucking. Way.” Myranda gasped, gaping at the bay window. Arching a brow, Effie held out the vodka for her. “Dutch courage?” She giggled, before heading over to the window. Roose had a balcony which would make it a little easier. They could drop down onto it and then it would only be a few feet before they hit the ground. There was nothing Myranda could do but watch as Effie climbed through the window frame.  
“You’re mad!” Myranda shrieked.  
“No, I’m Harley Quinn. And you’re Catwoman.” Effie replied, before letting go.

The bus journey took over an hour. Once out of the window, Myranda had thrown down the bottle of vodka, so Effie was no longer feeling quite as ridiculous as she had before. Of course, the alcohol only seemed to be loosening Myranda’s tongue more. But Effie was no longer focused on what she was saying; too busy thinking about what the night ahead held in store.  
They arrived down by the beach, near the pier where Myranda had been told they were going to meet. Only when they got there, the pier was dead; its gates chained shut. A large man stood outside it, smoking a fag. “Hey Vic!” Myranda called out, grabbing Effie’s hand and pulling her across the road.  
“Announce it to the whole street would you?” The large man snapped. “And it’s Victarion. Not Vic.”  
“Whatever. This is my best  friend, Effie.” Myranda gestured to Effie, who studied the man with intrigue. He was just a big brute to be honest. Nothing special. “You know who she is, right?” Myranda asked incredulously.  
“Of course I know.” Victarion replied, though Effie didn’t fail to notice the way his lip curled; as if he were disgusted by her.  
“Anyway, where’s Ronnie? He said he’d meet me at the pier.” Myranda seemed somewhat irritated by her lack of boyfriend, and placed a hand on her hip to express her irritation.  
“He’s in there already. You’ll have to go find him.” Victarion growled, clearly growing impatient, though whether it was with Myranda or with his brother, Effie couldn’t tell. The gates to the pier were still chained up, and Myranda groaned when she realised they would have to climb again. “This suit was not built for working out in!” She complained. Grinning, Effie studied the challenge before pulling out the vodka and taking a few more swigs, only for Victarion to snatch it away. “Don’t drink and mix.” He snarled. Effie smiled her Effie smile. “So there’s going to be drugs then?”   
“Of course.” Victarion grumbled.  
“Sweet.” Before he even knew what had happened, Effie had snatched the vodka from his grasp and ran for the gate, laughing. The short shorts made the climb difficult but she managed, and Myranda followed shortly after. Once beyond the fence, they seemed to be still none the wiser as to Ronnie’s whereabouts. The pier was completely dead, and Myranda was growing more and more irritated by the second. “He better not be playing one of his stupid games again!” She growled, pressing her phone to her ear.  
Games. Why did Ramsay spring to mind when she mentioned games?  
“He’s not even answering his fucking phone!” She yelled, her voice echoing out across the pier. Effie just carried on walking, lighting a fag and drinking vodka as she went. She didn’t care much about whether they found him or not, instead revelling in the fact she was out. Free. Feeling rebellious with the knowledge that neither of her brothers knew her whereabouts.  
It wasn’t until Myranda grabbed her arm that Effie realised the pier wasn’t so silent anymore. From somewhere up ahead there was some sort of twinkling music, the kind associated with circuses and fun fairs, not that Effie had been to either. Continuing on along the pier, they found the source at the very end.  
An old-fashioned carousel had lit up, the only source of light amongst the gloom, and was slowly turning. It was hauntingly beautiful, the way the carousel horses moved around, their painted mouths gaping open showing bared teeth. Each one seemed to watch them as they moved past. “Come on.” Effie said, moving closer. From between the horses, they could glimpse the control box at the centre. There was no one in there. It seemed to be moving all by itself.  
“What are you doing?” Myranda gasped, as Effie grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. Without offering an answer, Effie leapt up onto the moving platform, grasping a horse’s tail for balance. Myranda released a little squeal as she almost fell over, but Effie hardly noticed. The lights and the music were mesmerising. She reckoned they’d be even better if she was high.  
Winding their way through the herd of painted horses, they picked two that rose and fell side by side, and Effie stared out into the darkness beyond their surreal little island. It was dead out there. So gloomy and dark. She preferred this world.  
Suddenly, her view was blocked by an upside down face. The man’s features were painted on, though some of it was smeared. Effie could still recognise that he was intending to look like a clown.  
“Jesus Christ!” Myranda shrieked. Tilting her head, Effie smiled at him. He hadn’t scared her. One of his eyes was covered by an eyepatch, but the other twinkled with amusement and his blue lips stretched into a smile. “I was wondering where you’d got to.” Myranda laughed nervously, but she had seemingly been forgotten. The Joker didn’t even spare her a glance.  
“Hello Effie.” He grinned, his voice smooth and wicked. “I’m Jesus Christ.”


	53. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You should have loved her  
> While you had the chance

With the grace of a gymnast, Euron dropped down from amongst the rafters, landing steadily in a crouch beside her painted horse. His Joker costume seemed just as makeshift as her own; ordinary clothes with subtle hints. A painted white face, hair tinted green. Tatty suit trousers, a long leather jacket, and a hastily done up bow tie.  
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to be dressed up as Batman!” Myranda cried. For the first time, Euron actually looked at her, and smiled a fake, but still charming, smile. “Change of plans sweetheart. You know I like to be spontaneous.” He said, winking at Myranda before shifting his focus back to Effie. “I’ve heard all about you Effie. And not all of it good.” He grinned. Effie smiled her Effie smile, suddenly lost for words. It turned out she didn’t need any as Euron dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a spliff. “How about it then Effie?” She liked the way he said her name; the way he paused on the ‘f’ as if he couldn’t quite make sense of it. Brazenly taking the spliff from his grasp, she placed it between her lips and leaned forward towards his lighter; a metal contraption shaped like an upside down kraken. Its tentacles encased the flame, ready to drag it beneath the waves.  
Taking a deep drag, Effie tilted her head back, relishing the bitter taste. “That’s some good shit.” She sighed, making Euron chuckle.  
“Um, hello? I want some too. And where the fuck is this party?” Myranda snapped.  
“Sorry babe.” Euron said, still grinning, clearly not sorry at all. Taking another drag, Effie held the spliff out for Myranda to take. The lights above the carousel already seemed a bit brighter.  
“As for this party…” Euron released three sharp, piercing whistles and the pier came to life from his cries. Lights turned on, blinding them momentarily. People on motorbikes appeared from nowhere, revving their engines. Others were being pushing along in stolen shopping trolleys.  
Clinging to the pole her painted horse was impaled on, Effie and Myranda began to laugh hysterically at the sight of grown men and women whizzing around in superhero costumes. They continued to watch and smoke the spliff until it was burnt out, then wound their way through the moving platform before leaping back onto solid ground. The world didn’t seem quite so cold now.  
“Let the fun commence!” Euron boomed, his voice like a wave crashing down upon them, sweeping them all away with the promise of drugs, drink, a good time, and trouble.

Even amongst the gloom of his room, Ramsay could still see the large eyes shining up at him; filled with adoration and fear. He grinned at the sight. “You _do_ love me, don’t you Reek?” He asked the floating eyes.  
“Of course master.” His reply didn’t miss a beat, and Ramsay spread an arm out so that his pet could crawl closer to him. Reek did so without a moment’s hesitation. He never hesitated anymore, and even surprised Ramsay by curling into him; using his weak arms and what fingers he had left to cling to him tightly. Fondly stroking the matted curls, Ramsay slumped his head down onto the soiled pillows. Fucking hell, he was tired. It had been a busy week after all. Following his conversation with Effie on Monday, he had found a relentless anger reawakened. A relentless anger he had directed mainly at his pet. It was a good job he had thought to soundproof his room when he’d first got him, after he’d found a drunken Theon staggering around his driveway, yelling for Effie the slut to come out. Oh, how proud he’d been of himself…how arrogant…it was hard to believe the quivering wreck whose head now rested on Ramsay’s chest was the same person.  
At first Ramsay had thought that after breaking the arrogant cunt it wouldn’t be quite so much fun. But it was. His pet would do anything for him. He loved him. He was too afraid not to now.   
Ramsay released a groan when there came a knock at the door. _Fucking Domeric_. It wouldn’t be Effie, so it would have to be his dear, darling brother. How he hated the fucker; swanning in here as if he fucking owned the place, playing nice to Effie, turning her against him. Her _real_ brother. Making her ungrateful for everything he’d done for her. Ramsay couldn’t wait for father to come home. He wouldn’t put up with that sap. There was no way he could contribute to this family. Domeric might have grown up with their father, but Ramsay was certain he knew him better. He’d actually worked for him after all, something Domeric had refused to do. He wouldn’t last one second once their father came home.  
“Ramsay!” Domeric’s voice was sharp and urgent, so Ramsay rolled out of bed, pushing his pet off. He needn’t tell him to be quiet. Reek had learnt that lesson well enough months ago.  
“What do you want?” He snapped upon opening the door just enough for Domeric to not be able to glimpse the state of his room.  
“Don’t suppose you know where Effie’s gone do you?” Domeric asked, his face pinched with concern.  
“In her room? How should I know! You’re the favourite brother, remember?” He sneered bitterly. Giving him a disapproving look, Domeric continued. “She’s not in her room. I went to see if her or her friend wanted anything to eat and neither of them were there.”  
“So? They’ve probably just gone for a walk. To go do drugs in the woods or something.” Ramsay shrugged.  
“She wouldn’t go outside without telling anyone! She’s too afraid of Locke for that.” Domeric ran a nervous hand through his hair.  
“Why the fuck would she be afraid of Locke?” Ramsay scoffed, earning himself a disbelieving look.  
“You really have no idea do you?” His brother muttered, shaking his head. Before Ramsay could ask what that meant, Domeric pulled out his phone. “I’ve called her three times but she’s not answering her phone. Her window’s open. I think she might have snuck out.”  
“So what?” Ramsay was growing irritated now, and found himself considering how punchable Domeric’s face was.  
“Yes, I wonder why your sister has snuck out for the night without telling anyone where she’s going. Maybe she’s meeting someone? Someone she’s too afraid to tell you about? It’s not safe for her out there.” Domeric began to pace, looking suddenly fearful. It suddenly clicked as to what he was implying. _Someone she’s too afraid to tell you about._  
“You think she’s gone to find Damon?” Ramsay growled, no longer feeling quite so tired.  
“I think so. She called him just before you…you know…” Yes, Ramsay knew. He had checked his phone history but hadn’t felt it right to call Damon yet and remind him of his warning. “You should call him, just to check. I just want to know she’s okay.” Domeric said.  
“So do I!” Ramsay snapped. “I’ll fucking call him and come downstairs to tell you if she’s with him in a sec, okay?”  
“Fine.” Domeric ground his teeth.  
“Fine. Fuck off.” He ignored the rolling eyes and slammed the door. Reek squeaked as he slammed on the light, momentarily blinding them both. Ever since Effie had nicked his phone, Ramsay had made sure to keep it in his room. Not that he ever received any calls or messages.  
“Hello?” Damon’s voice was unsure, as Ramsay knew it would be.  
“Nice try. Where the fuck is she?” Ramsay growled.  
“I’ve missed you too Ramsay.” Damon replied flatly.  
“Yeah yeah, is Effie with you?” It was his turn to pace now. He knew Effie used to sneak out at Barrowton, but she wouldn’t be so stupid as to do it here, would she?  
“What? No, why?”  
“If you’re lying to me…”  
“I’m not, I swear!” He could tell by Damon’s tone that he wasn’t lying. “Why, where is she?” Ramsay didn’t know what to say. “Ramsay. Where is she?” Damon snarled down the phone.  
“I don’t fucking know, okay? She’s…missing.” Was that the right word?  
“Fucking hell. You’re sure? She might just be having a laugh. A joke at your expense.” Ramsay highly doubted that. Effie might not like him at the moment, but she wouldn’t risk angering him and getting flayed again. Not that Ramsay would tell Damon about that.  
“That’s not her style.” Damon just laughed at him. “So she’s not with you?” He barked, cutting off the laughter.  
“Nah man, but I’m an hour away. Want me to come and help you look for her?”  
“No thanks, you’re alright. Remember what I promised to do if you touched her.” Ramsay warned.  
“I know but she’s missing, and I don’t think you’re going to be the one she comes running back to.” Damon scoffed.  
“Fuck you Damon.” Ramsay spat, hanging up before the fucker could utter another word. He said nothing to his pet as he quickly dressed and left the room; his mind being too focused on other things. Where was Effie? Something didn’t feel right.  
“She’s not with Damon.” Ramsay announced, striding into the kitchen. Domeric abruptly stood up. “You’re sure?”  
“Yes!” He snapped, throwing himself down into a chair. “Have you tried calling her again?”  
“Twice. She’s still not answering.” Domeric’s brows were furrowed together. His worry irritated Ramsay to no end. “Don’t suppose you took her anywhere she might have gone. You know, someplace nice?” Ramsay muttered grudgingly. Anything to get Domeric out of the house before he smashed his worried face to pieces. It was almost more annoying when Domeric’s eyes widened in realisation. “I know somewhere she might be.”  
“Well fuck off then. I’ll stay here in case she comes back.” His brother leapt onto his feet and went to get his coat, pausing halfway across the room to turn and _glare_ at him.   
“If your anger gets out of hand and you punish her again, I’ll do exactly the same to you. Understand?” Ramsay could feel his lips twitch with annoyance, but his desire to be rid of Domeric was stronger than his need to argue with him, so he forced himself to nod. Domeric did the same, before turning on his heel and disappearing from the kitchen. Waiting until he heard a car start up and disappear up the driveway, Ramsay moved from the kitchen to the lounge, and put his phone down on the table.  
Turning on the TV, he tried to focus on whatever it was that he was watching, but it was no good. Instead, his eyes wandered towards the Christmas tree that they had yet to take down. He hated that Christmas tree. But somehow it looked different than before. Upon closer inspection, Ramsay discovered that over half the ornaments had been melted or burnt, and had twisted into grotesque shapes. He recalled how he sometimes found Effie sitting in the exact spot he was stood on now, always with a lighter in her hand. It made him smile a little to think she hated the tree as much as he did. Pulling what once had been a pink bauble off a white branch, Ramsay sat down on the floor and studied the twisted shape. It was beautiful, in its own messed up way. And wasn’t that just his sister all over?  
Though his focus had been fully on the twisted ornament, Ramsay leapt to his feet the moment his phone rang and rushed to answer it. The incoming call was from an unknown number.  
“Hello?” Ramsay gasped.  
“Hello. This is police sergeant Jacelyn Bywater. Am I speaking to Ramsay Bolton?” Said the authoritative voice on the other end.  
“What?!”


	54. Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I see the bodies slowly swayin’  
> Movin’ side to side  
> I feel the animal is rising  
> As I slowly come alive

There was no apparent end to Euron’s energy, nor his plans. He was such fun to be around. There were no boundaries. Only a freedom that came with him, and it was like magic. He was as much a drug as the pills he gave them. The pier had turned into a wonderland, where anything was possible. They ran through the haunted house, pushed each other around in trolleys, stole popcorn and dashed through the fun house. Effie barely noticed anyone else. Euron seemed to be the only person worth noticing, and she couldn’t help but suspect he felt the same about her.  
Her lack of focus on those around her meant that she didn’t notice Myranda’s warning looks, nor her jealous stares. She was enraptured in the one blue eye she could see.  
“I need to pee.” Myranda announced just as they left the fun house. Effie didn’t speak, but allowed herself to be yanked away and dragged to the toilets. Myranda disappeared into one of the cubicles, leaving Effie alone. She stood by the sinks, until a voice behind her made her turn.  
_Ramsay’s not going to be happy about this._  
Her reflection glared at her.  
_You’re going to get it.  
_ “W…what?” Effie stammered.  
_Look at yourself. Effie the slut. Effie the slag. Whore.  
_ Her reflection sneered.  
“What? Don’t…shut up!” She spat at it.  
_Mama would be so proud of you.  
_ “No. She’s never proud of me. I don’t care though!”  
_Yes you do.  
_ “Shut up!”  
_You want to fuck Euron.  
_ “Can you please shut up?” Tears made the paint slide down her cheeks.  
_But he’s not the one you want.  
_ “Shut up!”  
_He’ll never belong to you. No one will. You’re just a whore.  
_ “Shut up!”  
_Cut yourself.  
_ “No!” Effie yelled at herself.  
_Cut yourself.  
_ “No! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!” Effie screamed, clamping her hands over her ears. She was shaking uncontrollably; the drugs taking a cruel hold over her.  
“Effie?”  
_Effie.  
_ “Effie, what are you doing?” She almost struck Myranda, but fell off balance and staggered away. “Aw, look at you. You’re totally monged aren’t you?” The girl giggled. Effie stared at her, then turned to glance at her reflection. It wasn’t sneering anymore. “Oh shit.” Effie turned back when Myranda spoke.  
“What?” She gasped, eyes widening as she continued to tremble.  
“Shit, there’s loads of bugs in your hair!” And she could feel them now, crawling all through her roots, biting down on her scalp.  
“Get them out!” Effie sobbed, scraping her fingers through her hair. “Get them off me!” She screamed.  
“Effie! Effie, what are you doing?” Myranda asked, her voice gentle and kind. Ceasing her manic attempt to rid herself of bugs, Effie frowned. “The bugs.” She cried. “The bugs!”  
“What bugs? There’s nothing there.” Myranda told her, starting to laugh. Slowly, Effie began to laugh with her. It was all so confusing. Was any of this even real? She didn’t know. She was tripping…really, really tripping…  
Effie was distracted when she heard someone sobbing, and almost turned to see if it was her reflection before she realised it was Myranda.  
“Please…please don’t take Ronnie from me.” The girl whimpered, falling into Effie’s arms. Effie held her tight. “Hey…hey, don’t do that.” She said, patting Myranda on the back awkwardly. When the girl pulled back, her tears were gone, if they had ever been there at all.  
“Get your fucking hands off me!” Myranda snarled, her voice distorted. Effie did so automatically, trembling so hard she thought she would fall down without support.  
“As if _you_ could take him from _me_! God, you’re so up yourself!” Myranda shrieked, shoving Effie backwards. She hit the ground so hard she could taste blood at the back of her throat. Panting wildly, Effie gasped for breath as Myranda leapt down on top of her, pinning her to the cold tiles. “You think you’re so fucking cool, well you’re not. You’re a fucking nutcase. Get your flat little tits out of my boyfriend’s face! Okay?” Myranda slapped her sharply. “I said okay?” She was yanking at her hair now, and the world drifted in and out of focus. “I swear babe, I’m serious, if you ever try to touch anything that belongs to me I will fuck. You. Up.” Myranda sneered, slapping her with each word. Effie’s cheeks stung and her jaw ached. She scrabbled around, searching for something to defend herself with, but the toilet floor offered no help. “Okay? I said okay?” With all her might, Effie somehow managed to shove her off until Myranda’s head hit the sink with a sickening crunching sound. If there was blood, Effie didn’t stop to check. Leaping to her unsteady feet, she staggered out of the toilet and ran as though her life depended on it; screaming and leaping out of the way of trolleys and motorbikes. Eventually she must have reached the end of the pier as she ran straight into the railing, doubling over it so that she could vomit over the side.   
“My brother did say don’t mix and drink.” She was too focused on vomiting to jump at the sound of his voice, and allowed him to hold her bunches back. His hands lingered on her neck for a while longer even after she was done. “I told him you weren’t one to play by the rules, are you Effie Snow?” His voice was so gentle; warm as honey. She couldn’t hold back her contented hum as she stood up straight and leaned back into his touch slightly. Smiling her Effie smile as best she could, she took the bottle of vodka from his hands and took a swig; swishing it around her mouth before spitting it over the side. “Classy.” Euron chuckled.  
“Says the drug dealer.” Effie groaned, taking another swig and swallowing it this time.  
“I could be as classy as those stuck up cunts you party with if I chose to.” Euron argued, though his blue lips were still stretched into a wicked grin.  
“I bet you could.” Effie agreed. “But I’m sick of those stuck up cunts.”   
Euron’s smile widened.  
“Me too.” He sighed. And then he kissed her. His mouth tasted sweet, sickeningly so, with a hint of vodka and cigarettes. But Effie didn’t care. She kissed back forcefully; a hunger awakening inside of her. Something inside her told her that she _needed_ this man.  
Then she remembered Myranda, and what she’d done. Now that the fog had cleared from her mind, she realised how wrong this was. Myranda might still be lying on the bathroom floor, knocked unconscious, fit for anyone to take. Or she could be dead.  
Pulling away from the kiss, Effie shook her head and covered her face with her hands. “What is it Effie? What’s wrong?” He didn’t sound all that concerned. In fact, his tone seemed to be mocking. “Myranda…” Effie whispered, trembling again. “I…she was hitting me and…I just shoved her…the sink, I didn’t mean to…but, we need to check if she’s okay…I didn’t mean to…I was tripping…it was an accident…” Her breathing was ragged, panicked, and she was certain she’d throw up again.  
“Myranda’s fine.” Euron told her, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “My brother’s taking care of her.” That ceased the trembling, but Effie still couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Come on. You’re going to have fun tonight. Without those stuck up cunts.” It was more of an order than a promise, but Effie nodded anyway and forced herself to smile. Euron then smiled an almost sympathetic smile and gently stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. “You really are beautiful.” He crooned. Then he took hold of her hand; his grip so tight it almost hurt. “Let’s go Harley Quinn.” He grinned. “I want to show you something.”   
“Whatever you say, Puddin’” Effie laughed, allowing him to drag her back down the peer until they reached a large building near the centre. ‘The Hall of Mirrors’ had been painted above the entrance in an elegant script, framed by bulbs that flickered on and off occasionally, making the place look broken. But she wasn’t afraid. Not with Euron holding her hand so tight.   
The lights inside flickered on and off as well, illuminating their warped reflections momentarily. When Effie recalled her talking reflection earlier, she froze slightly and stared down at the floor, not wanting to see her sneering at her again. “Are you afraid Effie?” Euron’s voice was right beside her ear, but when she looked up he was gone, his hand no longer clutching hers.  
“Where are you?” She yelled, but the only person she saw was herself; her figure warped and twisted by the mirrors.  
“I’m here.” Spinning around, she saw him. Several of him. But it was hard to tell which was the real one before he disappeared again. Panic rose inside her and it felt as though her throat was caving in on itself as she struggled for breath. “It’s a maze Effie, you have to find your own way out. You can’t be afraid anymore.” His voice seemed to be coming from all around her.   
Closing her eyes, Effie focused on just breathing. Regular, slow, steady breaths. She straightened up a little and opened her eyes. “I’m not scared.” She told her reflection. “I’m not scared.” She said it louder this time.  
“I’M NOT SCARED. I’M NOT SCARED. I’M NOT SCARED!” Effie screamed at herself, balling her hands into fists. With steady steps, she began to work her way through the maze, screaming at the top of her lungs. She felt so brave. So free. She could do this all on her own. She _was_ doing this all on her own. Several times she was forced to come face to face with her warped self, but she met their gaze with challenge and carried on until she saw lights. Laughing with relief, she staggered towards them, barely registering the fact they were a bright blue and flashing.

It had taken a lot of self-control to stick to the speed limits, and Ramsay gripped the steering wheel so tight he was sure he’d leave dents in the leather. After receiving a call from the police, he had felt obligated to call Domeric and tell him to wait at home for when they came back. Of course he had to promise not to lay a finger on Effie.  
It took over an hour before he reached the town, and another fifteen minutes to actually find the police station. How the fuck had Effie managed to get _arrested_? Had she actually gone insane? Father would flay her himself if word of this reached the papers. Still, he was relieved to finally know where she was, even if she had been getting involved in criminal activities.  
“Kingsland branch police station, how may I help you?” The lady at the front desk was oddly cheerful for someone who was still working at eleven o’clock on a Friday night.  
“Um…hi, I’m here to pick up Effie Snow? She’s been arrested.” Ramsay said quietly, hoping no one in the waiting room had heard him say her name.   
“Okie dokie, let me just check that for you.” The woman turned away to face the screen of her computer while Ramsay glanced around the waiting room. They were all familiar figures to him. Ramsay had, after all, ended up in a police station on a Friday night a number of times before. Rough looking men and women dominated the seating area, looking incredibly pissed off that they were sat in here and not out having a good time.   
“You just missed her.” The cheery lady informed.  
“What?”  
“Her brother’s picked her up already.”  
“But…I’m her brother.” Ramsay said.  
“Her other brother.” That was impossible. There was no way Domeric could have gotten here before him. Besides, it had been Ramsay they’d contacted. He was her _real_ brother, after all.  
“I’m her _only_ brother.” Ramsay insisted through gritted teeth. The cheerful woman was no longer quite so cheerful, and rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Okay, her boyfriend pretending to be her brother has picked her up already. She just left with a big bloke. Might be able to catch her if you’re lucky.” Wasting no time, Ramsay strode out of the station and looked down the road. A white van was parked on the corner and a number of people were filing inside. Even from far away and with her in costume, he could still recognise Effie’s slim figure.  
“Effie!” He yelled, beginning to run down the road. He didn’t recognise any of the people she was with, and didn’t like her being out alone. Additionally, he didn’t want to have to come and bail her out again.  
“Eff…” Before he could call out her name again, someone ran into him, knocking him against the wall of the police station. He cried out as his head smacked against the bricks. But his attacker wasn’t done with him yet. Before he could even turn to see their face, they threw him to the ground and gave three sharp kicks to his ribs before finally leaving him be. When Ramsay rolled over, they were nowhere to be seen. When attempting to sit up, he groaned as a sharp pain seared through his left side. He suspected a rib had been cracked. “Fuck.” He breathed, then realised that was an even worse idea than sitting up had been. Slumping back down onto the cold pavement, Ramsay pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled Effie’s number in the vain hope that she’d answer it.  
“Hello Ramsay.” It was a man’s voice, cold and mocking.  
“Who is this?” Ramsay growled through the pain as best he could.  
“You’ve got to come to this party at The Smugglers, we’re all boarding the HMS Whore now.” The stranger laughed a cruel, rasping laugh.  
“Put my sister on the phone!” He yelled, ignoring the pain in his ribs.  
The stranger just laughed. “I’m not playing by your rules Ramsay, but Effie says hi. Better come and find her soon. There’s no safety guaranteed on this voyage, and there’s definitely turbulence ahead!” Before Ramsay could say any more, the phone line went dead.  


	55. Wonderland

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You be the beast,  
> and I'll be the beauty beauty.  
> Who needs true love,  
> as long as you love me truly?

The weed left her feeling light headed, so she rested her head on his shoulder as the van sped along. There were no windows in the back, so she couldn’t tell where they were going. In truth, Effie didn’t care. She hadn’t been the only one to end up in a cell for over an hour, and they all had their own stories to tell. Some had been in prison before. Her cell had stank of shit, but the mat on the floor had been clean enough so she’d simply lied down and waited. They’d had her give them her details and she’d spent an hour or so preparing herself for her brother to smash down the door and drag her home by her hair. But instead, much to her surprise, it had been Euron’s brother Victarion waiting for her on the other end. She was somewhat relieved to see his bullish face. Euron himself had been sat in the van, waiting for her with weed at the ready.  
After about half an hour the van drew to a stop and the engine cut off. “And we have arrived.” Euron announced grandly, making them all laugh drunkenly as he passed a bottle of rum around. Effie was sure she had tasted it before, perhaps during that doped up week with Damon when they had raided Roose’s alcohol stores. “Where are we?” She asked Euron.  
“The Smuggler. Our favourite hide out.” He replied, his teeth glinting in the dim light as he smiled. They all cheered in agreement as the doors were opened. Euron hooked an arm around Effie’s shoulder and helped her out, slinging her over his shoulder the moment their feet hit solid ground. “Let’s go!” He bellowed, carrying her into the bar. From what Effie could see of it, it was some sort of rock, grunge bar. They had a live band playing that was deafeningly loud, and people had written all over the walls. It seemed they were allowed to write or draw anything. Effie loved it.  
“Grab us a bottle of rum would you? We’ll be in the back room. Make sure you knock.” Effie giggled dopily at Euron’s words, and allowed him to carry her through the bar. He led her through a maze of corridors before they reached a quiet, empty room fitted out with a pool table. “I think this will do us nicely, don’t you?” He asked, putting her down gently.  
“Nicely indeed.” Effie hummed, clasping his face between her hands and kissing him; gently at first, then with more urgency. Lifting her by the hips, Euron carried her over to the pool table and sat her down roughly, moving in between her thighs. He bit down hard on her lower lip, but Effie bit back harder. She relished his roughness, and it occurred to her that this was the first man she’d been with that wanted her just for her.  
_But Damon…_  
Damon had been allowed to fuck her because Ramsay had said so. He wouldn’t have touched her if Ramsay hadn’t allowed it. Perhaps he cared more about what Ramsay said and did than what she’d wanted. Besides, Damon was gone, and she needed Euron so badly. It wasn’t even just a sexual need. He was like a drug; once she’d had some, she wanted more. It might destroy her in the end, but when had she ever been afraid of that? If Euron was a drug, Roose was poison. He killed you slowly. Ate away at you gradually until there was nothing of yourself left. Effie would choose a faster death any day.  
“You want it, don’t you Effie?” Euron asked, his voice low and thick with lust.  
“Yes, I need it…please.” She whined, feeling a familiar slickness between her legs. Euron wasted no time bothering to get her top off; instead sliding her shorts, tights and underwear off in one smooth motion. Pulling him towards her so they could carry on kissing, Effie wrapped her legs around him. It was awkward, but she no longer cared. She needed to do this. This was freedom. Ramsay would hate it.   
Euron didn’t even take his trousers off completely, but slid into her with ease, sighing in pleasure. Effie cried out as he balled his hands into fists in her hair, pulling at it roughly. Her thighs tightened around him as he humped into her. And she could feel it. Building inside of her. That warmth. The unstoppable darkness closing in. Clawing at his back, Effie pulled him in as close as she could. “A small death.” She gasped, barely noticing she’d said anything. “I need it…a small death.” Her voice was hardly breeching a whisper.  
He shifted inside her so that he hit the spot that brought her orgasm closer, hitting it several times until she was a quivering, whimpering wreck around him. Once she stopped, he thrusted into her harder, chasing his own pleasure, growling like a feral creature. Though her orgasm had left her over sensitive, Effie let him chase; moving her hips to match his pace and try to speed things up. Even after he had spilled inside her, he remained; kissing her and biting her lips, spreading his cum inside her with lazy thrusts as they both waited for their breathing to steady.  
Neither of them spoke as he pulled out of her and stuffed himself back into his pants. His grin was gone; his mouth now set in a grim, determined line. Effie leapt off of the pool table and had just managed to get her knickers on before the door opened and Victarion strode in. “Thought I told you to knock.” Euron growled. Saying nothing, Victarion narrowed his eyes as he watched Effie get dressed, before giving Euron a questioning glance. “You got it?” Euron asked, not clarifying for Effie what he was talking about. She seemed invisible to him now. “Of course.” Victarion said gruffly.  
“Good.” Turning back to Effie, his blue lips stretched into a grin once more, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Want some Effie?” He asked, though she still didn’t know what it was. It didn’t stop her from smiling her Effie smile. “Of course you fucking want it.” Euron chuckled darkly. Turning to his brother, he held out both hands, and Victarion placed a belt and a needle into them; the syringe filled with a yellowish liquid. “Hold out your arm.” Euron ordered. Effie obeyed wordlessly. The drugs from earlier had worn off, and she needed more. Euron didn’t seem as fun when she was in her right mind.   
Slipping the belt around her arm, Euron tightened it until she winced, then tapped expertly at the crease until he found a vein. The needle stung a little as it pierced her flesh, but Effie refused to let the pain show. “Here you go. Doctor Euron’s marvellous medicine.” She tilted her head back as she felt it begin to course through her; mixing with her blood. Euron gripped her tight as she swayed a little.   
“I was always jealous of Alice…you know…Alice in Wonderland.” She muttered, her own voice echoing in her head. “When she was a girl she fell down…down and down and down…and then she found magic…well I’ve been down…further than Alice…there’s no fucking wonderland down there…only…just…dark…so dark down there…” Her head no longer felt attached to her body. It was as if she was floating. She was so light.  
“I know…” Euron’s voice was the one string that kept her from floating away. “Your life is so miserable. Pitiful. Terrible. But I have the cure. The only cure.” He promised.  
“What is it?” She asked, laughing softly.  
He kissed her gently on the lips, and she opened her eyes to find him smiling. “Death.” Releasing her, Euron cut his string.   
Effie didn’t fly.  
Effie fell.

The Smugglers wasn’t the drug induced sex rave Ramsay had been expecting. It was just a regular rock pub, though perhaps a little more dirty. Perhaps that was why it had been so hard to find. It hadn’t even been marked on the map on his phone, so in the end he’d had to grudgingly ask for directions. When he entered the pub, he’d considered it would be near impossible to find his sister. Each time the band played a particularly heavy song, the whole place became a giant mosh pit, and he’d struggled to grab anyone and hold them still long enough to ask if they’d seen her. When he’d seen her climbing into the van he hadn’t really paid any attention to what she’d been wearing, so describing what she looked like was difficult. He’d had to abandon the mosh pit when his ribs began to hurt so much that angry tears stung his eyes. Standing on a quiet platform, he scanned the pulsing crowd until he spotted a nervous-looking boy staring at him from across the room. The fact the boy looked so out of place was what made him carry on staring, and after a moment the boy tilted his head to the left, indicating to a doorway Ramsay hadn’t spotted before. Sighing and cursing Effie under his breath, Ramsay headed back into the pit and shoved his way through the crowd until he miraculously reached the other side. The boy was gone but Ramsay carried on to the doorway anyway, which led to a long empty corridor. “Effie!” He yelled out, hoping to hear her shout back. There was no sound except for the heavy rock music behind him, so he carried on down the corridor, which then branched off both to his left and his right. Ramsay would have been stuck had he not noticed the same wimpy boy peering around the corner at the end of the corridor to his left. Balling his hands into fists, Ramsay marched down the corridor towards him, quite ready to smash his little terrified face in. After he’d asked where Effie was, of course. But the boy was quicker than Ramsay, on account of his size, and was gone the moment Ramsay rounded the corner. “Hello?” Ramsay called out. From above the din of heavy metal, Ramsay could hear men laughing. A lot of men. The pace of his steps and his heart sped up, and he was practically running when he finally found the room which contained the laughter. Stepping inside, Ramsay saw four men bent over a pool table with cards in their hands and tokens piled in the middle. The boy he’d been following was stood at the back of the room, staring at his own shoes. The rest of the men were much, much bigger and Ramsay’s steps grew slightly more tentative when he realised he was outnumbered. The man at the far end of the table, who seemed to be dressed as both The Joker and a pirate, notice him first.  
“Nice job Wex.” He said to the nervy boy. “Ramsay! Hi. Fancy some poker?” It was the same voice he’d heard on the phone. Glancing around the room, Ramsay saw that Effie was nowhere to be seen. More importantly, the three other men were regarding him with fierce hatred. If he got into a fight now, he had no chance of coming away unscathed, and even less of a chance of winning.  
“I’m looking for my sister.” He mumbled, and once again found himself wondering what the fuck was going on. Where was Effie? Who were these guys? Why had they dragged him all the way out here?  
“Effie? She’s over there.” The pirate/joker guy shrugged, nodding his head to his right. Moving over a bit, Ramsay glimpsed Effie, dressed like Harley Quinn, lying motionless on the floor.  
“Effie? Shit! Effie?” Running to her, Ramsay went down on his knees and shook her body violently, ignoring the pain shooting through his side. “Fuck.” He muttered, shaking her again before checking her pulse. It was still there, but only a faint fluttering beneath the skin. “Effie? What happened? Effie!” He yelled, desperate for any sign of life. A twitch of her lip. A flutter of her eyelashes. Anything.  
“Someone call an ambulance!” Ramsay was too panicked to realise he was begging. He might have been angry at her, but he never wanted her to die. Pulling out his phone, Ramsay dialled 999 himself. “Hello? My sister…ambulance…I need an ambulance…please…my sister…I think she’s overdosed…” The icy talons of fear gripped him when the man on the other end of the line asked where he was. He knew he was at a place called The Smuggler, but where the fuck was that?  
“Where are we?” He asked himself, before turning to the group of men that hadn’t even looked up from their game of poker. “Oi, where the fuck are we?” The one nearest to him turned, a look of concern across his face, and held out a hand. “Pass it, I’ll give them directions.” He promised. Ramsay didn’t think twice about complying until the man lobbed his phone across the room and it smashed to pieces against the far wall.  
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ramsay roared, wanting to lunge for him but not wanting to leave Effie’s side.  
“Okay. Let’s make a deal.” It was the pirate clown that spoke this time, standing up straight and abandoning his cards. He grinned a cruel grin that sent shivers through Ramsay. “We’ll call an ambulance as soon as you fuck your sister.”


	56. Beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess you really did it this time  
> Left yourself in your warpath  
> Lost your balance on a tightrope  
> Lost your mind tryin' to get it back

“You’re joking.” Ramsay hissed, hooking his arms under his limp sister. He could hear her shallow breaths. They didn’t have long. If he could just get her to the car, he didn’t care how much he had to break the speed limit by. If he could just get her to the car, she’d be okay. She _had_ to be okay.  
“I’m afraid not.” The man had moved so that he was stood right behind him, and Ramsay bumped into him as he staggered beneath Effie’s weight. Growling in frustration, he put her back down gently on the floor and turned to face him. The Joker was a little taller, about half a head or so. Ramsay was certain he could take him on if he didn’t have his lackies with him and if his sister wasn’t dying. “Get out my fucking way.” Ramsay snarled, shoving him slightly. They all seemed to spring into motion at once like hungry dogs. Ramsay found his arms held tight as he was dragged away from his sister and slammed down onto the pool table. The leader pinned him down, grabbing his collar roughly and shaking him, keeping Ramsay’s head up so they could look each other in the eyes. Ramsay cried out as his elbow dug into his cracked rib, but didn’t allow it to stop him from fighting back though his attempts all proved fruitless.  
“Don’t worry, I got her ready for you. She’s all wet and ready to go!” The leader laughed.  
“You fucking…you raped her? That’s my sister you sick fuck!” Ramsay roared.  
“Raped? No no. She begged!” Some of the other men laughed now too, which made Ramsay struggle harder.  
“Get the fuck off me!” He yelled, only to be lifted and slammed back down on the table, momentarily stunning him.  
“You’ve got my nephew. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve done with him, but considering how fucked up your sister is, I can imagine it isn’t pretty.” The laughter was gone now, and his tone was low and threatening.  
“Neph…Theon?”  
“Smart bastard he is.” One of the others chuckled.  
“I’ll give him back to you, if that’s what you really want! Just fucking…please…don’t kill her…please…” He begged.  
“Give him back? What the fuck would I want with that arrogant little cunt?”   
“Euron!” The biggest man barked.  
“Shut the fuck up Victarion.” Euron growled, not taking his one visible eye off of Ramsay.  
“I can promise you…he’s not such an arrogant cunt anymore…” Ramsay chuckled to himself. He couldn’t help but smirk as he thought of Reek, until a fist knocked the smile from his face.  
“We don’t want him back. He’ll get in my way. But it was incredibly embarrassing for us. What’s more, you got us into even more trouble over that posh Stark bitch.” Euron spat, moving an arm so that it pressed down over Ramsay’s throat.  
“What?” Ramsay croaked, eyes bulging as he was starved of air.  
“The one whose death you framed us for you little cunt.” Oh yeah, Ramsay had quite forgotten about that. “I think it’s only fair we cause a bit of trouble for you as well. Now, fuck your sister or let her die. Your choice.” His smile had returned now, and he lessened the pressure on Ramsay’s throat.  
“Please…I can’t…I can’t…”  
“Oh please, I can’t get one up, please let me go.” Euron whined, mimicking Ramsay’s pleading tones. “I keep going soft.” He added, making the others explode into laughter. Ramsay was still gasping for breath when he was lifted off the table and thrown down onto the floor, just out of arms reach of Effie. Turning his head, he stared at her lifeless form. _I can’t, I’m sorry…I just can’t…_  
“I think he needs a bit of help lads. Do you want me to play with it a bit? I got your sister ready, only fair I do the same for you.” Euron chuckled. His men moved into position, pinning Ramsay down by his arms. One even had a foot pressed down on his throat. Despite their brute strength, Ramsay gave it his all to try and rid himself of them; struggling ferociously as Euron undid his trousers and yanked them down, exposing him for all to see. His cheeks grew hot as he flushed with the humiliation of it.  
“Oh. You’re smaller than I’d hoped. Well lads, at least there’s no chance of my nephew tearing! Asha will be pleased.” Ramsay could feel tears sting his eyes, but with his hands held down there was no chance of hiding them as they spilled down his cheeks. “Aw, don’t cry! You can’t fuck her if you’re crying. She’s not that bad. Not bad at all actually! Now come on kid. Get. Hard.”  
“Please…” Ramsay screamed as Euron stamped down on his knee, dislocating the kneecap.   
“She’s dying over there Ramsay! You better get hard!” He roared at him. Ramsay sobbed helplessly. There wasn’t an arousing thought in the world that could stimulate him now. “Pathetic.” Euron spat. “Right, bring her in.” He ordered, taking his foot off of his kneecap.  
“Euron…”  
“Bring her in for fuck sake!” Euron bellowed, fixing his brother with an icy glare. Ramsay took a few moments to try and work through the pain in his knee. He tried to sit up but they continued to pin him down, though he tried to shuffle his pants back on to cover himself, but to no avail. He glanced over at Effie, and couldn’t even tell whether or not she was still breathing. Upon hearing a door open and close, he whipped his head around to see the large man half supporting, half dragging a girl in through the door. It took him a moment to realise that it was the girl Effie had brought home after college earlier that day. It made him feel no easier when Euron abandoned him and went over to the girl. “Myranda? Myranda, wake up sweetheart.” He said gently, before dealing her a sharp slap to wake her up. The girl lolled her head drunkenly before forcing her eyes wide open. “Alright darling?”  
“Eff…Effie…she shoved…my head, it hurts…” The girl groaned. Putting the pieces together, Ramsay could only assume she was suffering with concussion that his sister had somehow caused.  
“I know babe, I know, but I need you to do something for me. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” And suddenly it was as if Ramsay was watching himself and Reek from far away. Myranda’s eyes opened wide, and fixated on him as if he was the only thing that mattered in the whole world. “Yes of course Ronnie, anything.” She gushed adoringly.  
“Good girl. Now, you see that boy over there?” He asked gently, pointing towards Ramsay. _He couldn’t be…that’s sick…_  
“You recognise him don’t you?”  
“Yeah…he’s…he’s Effie’s brother…the hot one…covered in blood…” The girl stammered. Even with his heart hammering against his chest, Ramsay still rolled his eyes. Euron arched a brow and turned to look at him. “Really? Wonder whose blood that was.” He grinned. “Anyway, Myranda sweetheart, I need you to get down on all fours and give him a blowjob.”  
Clearly his pet wasn’t as well trained as Reek. Her eyes grew wide with fear, and she met Ramsay’s gaze looking like a rabbit caught in headlights. “No…I can’t…” She began to shake her head frantically.  
“Look at me.” Euron ordered, forcing the girl’s head around. “Listen closely sweetheart. You have two options, okay? If you don’t do this, I’m going to kill you. If you do, I’ll still kill you, but I promise it will be quick and painless…well, it’ll be quick. I can’t lie to you now can I.”  
“Please.” Myranda sobbed. “Please, I don’t want to die.”  
“Tough shit princess, now go on. Get on your knees.” Ramsay watched in horror as she shuffled forwards, still sobbing hysterically.  
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Ramsay growled, earning himself a kick in the jaw that loosened several teeth. Myranda ignored him and carried on moving until she was stood next to him, though she did require a shove to get her down on her knees. “Go on Myranda.” Euron crooned encouragement. Struggling frantically, Ramsay tried to loosen their hold once more. He couldn’t even bare to look at his sister. He couldn’t do this…she’d die if he didn’t…but he just couldn’t…  
Myranda’s mouth was hot and wet, her tears mixing with saliva. It wouldn’t have been unpleasant were it not for the fact he could feel them all watching him and his sister’s life was at stake. After a few more pumps, Myranda pulled back. “Please…I can’t do this…please Ronnie! You loved me. You said so! I’ll do anything. Anything but this! I even let you cut me, remember?” For half a heartbeat, Ramsay thought Euron might relent. He smiled at her sympathetically and crouched down beside her, fingering her hair almost lovingly before his hand curled into a fist. Yanking her head back, he held a knife to her throat. “Do it.” He hummed before forcing her head back down. A part of him admired her for trying. She took him as deep as she could, and Ramsay could feel himself starting to stiffen. Gritting his teeth and balling his hands into fists, he tried to fight the familiar coils of warmth. “Shit…fuck…” He hissed, clamping his eyes shut.  
“Ah ha! Here we go, about fucking time! I was starting to think you had problems.” Euron laughed, pulling Myranda off of him. “Thank you sweetheart. We’re done. I can’t believe you cheated on me!”  
“But…you said…I…” Her next words were cut off when a gunshot fired and her head exploded everywhere. Ramsay cried out in shock when hot blood and brains spattered all over him.   
“Holy shit Euron!” Victarion roared.  
“Now, back to you Ramsay. Now that you’re ready…” He gave a single nod and the men started dragging him over to where Effie still lay, her chest rising and falling only slightly.   
“Please stop…I can’t…please!” Ramsay choked out weakly.  
“Funny. Looks like you can to me.” One of the men pointed out, setting off a gale of laughter. Ramsay began to sob, ceasing to fight now. It was too late. It had to be too late. His sister was almost dead, and Ramsay just wanted the nightmare to be over.  
“Please…” He whispered, clamping his eyes shut again. When he opened them, Euron was on his knees leaning over him, his face a foot away from his own.  
“Beg me.” He ordered softly. “Beg me to let you go, and I will. Beg me nicely like the pretty little bitch you are.”   
Ramsay pursed his lips, his whole being fighting back the words. But only for a moment. He was tired and hurting and humiliated. His sister was dead or dying. The best he could hope for now was to get her body back.  
“I beg you. Please, let me go. I beg you. I beg you.” He whispered the words over and over until the blue lips split into a cruel, smug smile.  
“There’s a good boy. Smart lad.” He said patronisingly, patting Ramsay’s cheek gently before standing up. The men also let go of him and Ramsay quickly pulled his trousers back up before rolling over and starting to drag himself towards Effie’s still form.  
“Oh no no no. I said I’d let _you_ go, I didn’t say anything about her.” Ramsay released a quiet growl as Euron picked her up with ease and slung her over his shoulder. “You can keep your plaything Ramsay, and I’ll keep mine.”   
Sensing the fight was lost, Ramsay slumped down and pressed his face against the rough wooden tiles. Sobs ripped through him as he listened to them carry his sister away.


	57. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only know you've been high when you're feeling low  
> Only hate the road when you're missing home  
> Only know you love her when you let her go

It would have been extremely awkward if the situation had required words. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to, and Damon was free to pace the length of the lounge wrapped up in his own thoughts. About half an hour ago, Effie’s better brother had suggested he should sit down as there was nothing they could do now but wait. Damon had taken one look at the vacant sofa before carrying on pacing. He couldn’t sit there. It was the same sofa he’d fallen asleep on before Effie had awoken him, and asked him if he wanted her. He had found that amusing at the time, but now the memory hurt. He’d give anything to do it all again, and truly mean it this time.  
“Have you heard from him at all?” He asked Domeric for the seventh time.  
“Nope. Nothing.” Domeric sighed. He was stretched out on the other sofa, his hands covering his eyes.  
“What the fuck could she have got into trouble with the police for?” Damon growled, still pacing like a caged animal. After Ramsay had called him, he hadn’t been able to get the worry out of his head, and so had driven here as fast as he could, pushing whatever threats Ramsay had given to the back of his mind. He just wanted to know she was okay.  
“I’m going to try calling him again.” Damon muttered, pulling out his phone and dialling the number. He had just put the phone to his ear when there came a bone-shaking smashing sound from outside that made Domeric leap up onto his feet. “What the fuck was that?” Damon asked, throwing his phone onto the sofa and following Domeric from the room.  
The driveway was a scene of destruction. A pillar had fallen down, and bits of brick scattered the gravel. The air was thick with smoke, and Damon almost tripped over a bit of bumper as they staggered through towards the wreckage. “Ramsay?” He heard Domeric yell. “Ramsay? Are you alright?” The only answer was an incoherent groan, followed by the crunching of gravel as a figure shuffled towards them through the smoke.  
“Argh…fuck…my car!” Ramsay slurred, spinning and throwing his arms in the air. Blood was pulsing from the side of his head. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” Even through the smoke, Damon could see Domeric’s grave expression. Hooking an arm over his brother’s shoulder, Domeric began to help him back to the house.   
Was no one even going to consider the fact Effie might be in there?  
Ignoring Domeric and a clearly drunken Ramsay, Damon carried on towards the smashed up car, dodging bits of broken metal as he went. “Effie?” He called out, moving towards the passenger door. To his horror, the passenger side was worse than the drivers’ side. The windscreen was smashed so bad he couldn’t even see inside, and Damon was sweating by the time he’d wrenched the door open. “Thank fuck.” He breathed upon seeing that both the passenger seat and the back seats were empty. Then it dawned on him.  
The seats were empty.  
Effie wasn’t there.  
Ramsay hadn’t brought her back with him, so where the fuck was she?   
They hadn’t even made it to the lounge by the time Damon stormed back into the house. Ramsay was half stood, half collapsed onto Domeric. “Okay, where the fuck is she?” He roared, yanking Ramsay back by the scuff of his neck and slamming him up against the wall.   
“Damon? I’m gonna ffucking ssskin you…” Ramsay slurred.  
“I’m fucking talking so shut the fuck up! Where the fuck is she? Where is Effie?” He spat, slamming Ramsay against the wall again.  
“Ow! Can you stop?”   
“Not until you tell me where she is!” Their foreheads bumped together as Ramsay’s head lolled forward. Damon was so close he could smell the vodka on his breath. “Damon, that’s enough.” Domeric tried to intervene, but it was too late now.   
“Where. Is. She.” He seethed, trembling all over. When Ramsay shoved him off, he stepped back and ran his hands through his hair, balling his hands into fists and yanking on the fair strands. “She’s…gone.” Ramsay muttered miserably, clearly sobering up.  
“Gone? Gone? What the fuck does that mean?” Damon asked, pacing around him.  
“Euron Greyjoy.” Ramsay mumbled, sliding down the wall and landing in a dejected heap on the floor.  
“Are you fucking serious?” Damon snarled.  
“Who’s Euron Greyjoy?” Domeric cut in.  
“He’s the most fucked up psychopathic drug dealer I’ve ever heard of, and I’ve heard of a lot.” Again, he ran his hands nervously through his hair. It was taking every inch of self-control he had not to punch Ramsay until he’d bled to death. “What does he want with Effie? Why has he taken her?”  
Ramsay looked up at him then, his eyes filled with regret and anger. “Theon…” He muttered. Eventually, Damon managed to put the pieces together. “Theon went missing.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You killed him didn’t you?”  
“No!” Ramsay yelled angrily.  
“So what the fuck did you do? Why has Euron stolen Effie to probably use as his fucking fuck toy if you haven’t done something really fucking stupid? Why is Effie going to be used in every which way possible by that psychopath if you hadn’t done something so monumentally sick and fucked up? Tell me why Ramsay!” Damon lunged for him, pulling him to his feet and throwing him to the floor before leaping on top of him.   
“Get the fuck off me!” Ramsay roared, landing a blow. Nothing could stop Damon now though. “You don’t give a fuck about anyone do you? You’re a selfish fucking prick. I can’t believe I used to fucking look up to you. I can’t believe I used to think you were a mate. You self-centred, crazy little wanker!”  
“Oh yeah? And you’re so fucking perfect aren’t you? I might have passed her around a bit but you were the one that fucked with her head! Made her think you actually cared.” Ramsay smiled a cruel smile.   
“Shut the fuck up!” Damon roared.  
“You fucking loved it, didn’t you? You loved having someone crushing on you, because no one else fucking loved you, did they? Daddy’s too busy in prison to see you, and Mummy’s too busy spreading her legs for every fucking cock she can get her slutty hands on!” Damon’s fist smashed into his face with a sickening crunch.  
“Shut the fuck up about my family! Don’t talk about my mum! You don’t know me so shut the fuck up!” His fist and front were bloody by the time Domeric managed to pull him off.  
“Oi Damon, you might have fucked my sister in my bed, but I fucked your mother in yours.” Ramsay started to laugh manically as Damon desperately tried to shake Domeric off. “She was fucking gagging for it too.”  
Damon was too angry for words and so just released a wrathful roar instead. Sinking his teeth into Domeric’s shoulder, he fought his way free and leapt at Ramsay again, barely being able to see his face through the red mist that had descended upon him. Suddenly, his vision turned white and there was an awful grating sound. Damon slid off of Ramsay, who was now slick with foam. Wiping the white from his eyes, they both turned to see Domeric stood over them with a fire extinguisher in his hand. “Bloody children. The pair of you. You shouldn’t provoke people into fights you are not fit enough to win Ramsay, and you, Damon, need to remember why you are here. Now, I suggested we all go into the lounge and listen to everything Ramsay has to say. Damon, if you attack my brother again I will call the police.” The concern over what had happened to Effie cooled his anger a little, and the thought of being caught by the police spurred Damon to stand up and head to the living room. Ramsay followed sullenly, though neither of them looked at each other.  
Domeric appeared a few minutes later with three mugs of tea, though Damon would have much preferred a bottle of whiskey.  
“Right, now we’ve all cooled down a little, I want Ramsay to tell us what happened. Everything. Leave nothing out. The more we know, the more chance we have of finding Effie, agreed?” He looked from Damon to Ramsay, waiting for their sullen nods of consent. “Good.” And then they both turned to look at Ramsay, who was sat awkwardly on the sofa, wiping his bloody nose with his sleeve.  
He told his story, never looking either of them in the eye. Damon wouldn’t have believed half of it were it not for the fact Euron Greyjoy had been the ringleader of the operation. “He took her because I took Theon, and because…because of Sansa Stark…”   
“Sansa Stark?” Domeric’s voice broke halfway through. His eyes grew wide in sudden realisation. “You killed her, didn’t you? It wasn’t suicide at all was it?” Ramsay just shook his head. Death seemed to mean so little to him. Damon observed as Domeric’s hands clenched into fists and his lips twitched. It looked like he wasn’t the only one who wanted to punch the fuck out of Ramsay. “Yeah, I killed her. Father’s orders. But we used stuff with the Greyjoy mark on it, you know, the Kraken.  Framed them for it.” Ramsay shrugged. “Anyway, he said it was only fair they got me into a bit of trouble. They’d given Effie something, I don’t know what, but…but it was killing her. She was just lying there, hardly breathing. And Euron…I tried to call an ambulance but they broke my phone…and then he said…said…” Ramsay’s voice trailed off and he let his face fall into his hands, pressing the balls of his hands into his eyes. When Damon saw a sob shake him, he was shock. Ramsay never cried. Even when Effie had tried to kill herself.  
“He said what Ramsay?” Domeric probed, his voice flat and lifeless.  
“He said that if I…if I fucked her…he’d let us go.” Ramsay finally managed to choke out. They all sat in silence for a time. Ramsay’s hands were back over his eyes, so he didn’t see Damon glaring loathsomely at him. “And you couldn’t do it, could you?” Damon asked quietly. Shaking his head, Ramsay sobbed again. “Why not?” They both looked up at him then, their faces full of shock.  
“Don’t be sick.” Ramsay growled.  
“Sick? Come on Ramsay, it’s not like you haven’t done it before. Having Effie knocked out and pliable is what you’re into, right?” He couldn’t stop himself from smirking when every word seemed like a dagger to Ramsay.  
“Stop it.” He snarled.  
“What is he talking about Ramsay?” Domeric asked, his voice icy cold, his eyes demanding truth.  
“Should you tell him Ramsay? Or should I? Do you want me to tell him how you drugged your own sister then raped her?” Damon’s lip curled in disgust.  
“You did _what_?” Domeric gasped, horrified. Again, Ramsay hid his face behind his hands, and slowly started to shake his head. “Come on Ramsay, tell us, why couldn’t you do it now? Why couldn’t you have done it to bring her back, huh? Did it seem like too many people were getting what they wanted? Did you think you were being too generous? Why couldn’t you do it Ramsay? It happened before…”  
All of a sudden, Ramsay sprang at him. He didn’t land any punches, just grabbed hold of his collar threateningly and pressed his forehead to Damon’s. “Come on then!” Damon roared in challenge. “Tell us why Ramsay! Tell us why you couldn’t do it again. Tell us why you couldn’t do it for Effie.”  
“Because that’s not what happened!” Ramsay yelled back. Letting go of Damon, he stepped back, clamping a hand over his own mouth. Damon frowned at him, waiting for some explanation.  
“What I said…when I told her what happened that night…I lied. I had to.”


	58. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a stand to escape what's inside me.  
> A monster, a monster,  
> I've turned into a monster,  
> A monster, a monster,  
> And it keeps getting stronger.

He knew something was up the moment he walked through the door. It was quiet. Too quiet. Upon walking into the room they so laughably called a lounge, he saw his sister sprawled on the floor, eyes closed. A lounge was a place where you were supposed to relax and enjoy each other’s company, that’s why referring to this room as a lounge seemed so ridiculous.  
“Effie?” Ramsay called to her, searching for any sign of movement. There was none, but he could tell she was still breathing.   
“She did the thing again.” His mother’s words were slurred, her voice heavy with drink. Turning, he saw her leaning against the doorframe, most likely unable to stay upright without it.  
“What thing?” Ramsay sighed irritably. He’d only been gone half an hour.   
“You know…the thing! Where she breaths heavy and shit.” His mother shrugged, staggering towards the cluttered, threadbare sofa and throwing herself down onto it.  
“A panic attack.” Ramsay told her for perhaps the fiftieth time. They were becoming more and more frequent these days. Kneeling down beside Effie, he patted her cheek gently until her eyelids fluttered open. When he ran a hand through her soft brown hair, his fingers came away sticky with blood. “Did you hit her?” He snarled at his mother.  
“Don’t talk to me like that, you ungrateful little cunt.” She growled back. Ramsay would have fought back, but not while Effie was in the room. “Ramsay?” Effie moaned breathlessly. Suddenly realising where she was, she sat bolt upright and turned to eye their mother nervously. When she began to pant in fear, Ramsay turned her head so she was no longer looking at mother. “Easy Eff.” He said quietly, brushing a thumb along her cheek. Once her breathing had slowed, he stood up and helped her onto her feet, turning her so that her back was to mother and she wouldn’t have another panic attack.  
“Go to our room, I’ll be in there in a sec, okay?” Effie nodded silently, glancing anxiously at mother before darting to their shared room, closing the door firmly behind her. They both stared at the door in silence for a long while, both having their own thoughts about the girl beyond. Ramsay didn’t wish to hear what his mother was thinking about his sister though. She hated her, that much he did know.  
“Why can’t you care?” He asked quietly, not meeting her gaze.  
“Is that what you’re doing?” She replied, her voice dangerously low. When he met her gaze, he found her eyes were accusing; full of suspicion and revulsion.

When he finally went into the room, carrying a plate of beans on toast for her tea, she was hidden beneath the covers of the single bed they shared. It was large for a single, though it didn’t seem so when they were both in it. Summer nights were the worst as they’d be so close and their bodies so warm that it made sleep almost impossible. Sometimes Ramsay would move onto what little floor space they had just to get a few hours’ sleep, but Effie would always wake up screaming for him, frightened that mother would come storming into the room, which she usually did when Effie screamed too loudly.  
“What have I told you about lying down after you’ve been hit?” Ramsay snapped, perhaps a little too sharply. Slowly, his sister appeared from beneath the covers and sat up, her lips pouted in annoyance at being snapped at. “I brought you something to eat.” He said, holding up the plate of food.  
“I’m not hungry.” She replied, wiping her nose and shuffling back until her back was resting against the headboard. Not wanting to upset her further, Ramsay just sighed and put the dinner on the bedside table, before sitting down next to her on the bed. Her violent trembling was shaking the headboard, and her hands couldn’t keep still when she lifted them to check how badly she was shaking. Ramsay knew it wasn’t the right time to be amused, but she looked hilarious; shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering together.  
“Why are you dancing?” Ramsay snorted, bursting into a fit of laughter.  
“I don’t know why I’m shaking…it’s not funny Ramsay!” Effie cried before starting to laugh too. “It’s not funny! I mean…I’m laughing too, but you’re laughing _at_ me!” Her protests did nothing to stop him from bursting into more laughter. After a moment, she gripped his hand tight to try and stop herself from shaking, but it was no use. Her knees jumped and flinched about, making them both laugh harder. After a moment though, Ramsay’s laughter ceased. Her leg was rubbing up against his, her school skirt riding up to reveal a scrawny, pale thigh. Trying not to look, he attempted to move away from her subtly, but she was clinging on to his hand so tight. “I feel…so…crummy.” She laughed through chattering teeth.  
“You’ve probably got concussion.” Ramsay said, clenching his jaw. He could feel an unwanted warmth gathering at the pit of his stomach. “Stop shaking!” He snapped.  
“I’m trying!” Effie laughed, continuing to tremble. Her skirt moved further up her thighs until it was bunched around her waist, exposing her knickers. It wasn’t like it was the first time Ramsay had seen his sister’s underwear. He’d seen her naked almost every day of her life. But recently he’d noticed slight changes. Her thighs had filled out slightly, suggesting womanly curves, and her breasts had begun to swell a little too. The other week he had woken in the middle of the night to find his hand over one of them, and was horrified to find her nipple had hardened beneath his touch. He’d dashed to the bathroom and had to run a shower quickly, desperate to get the thoughts out of his head. They were wrong. Horrible. He’d been almost grateful when mother had hit him for using water when she hadn’t permitted it.  
When he felt himself growing hard, he turned to glare at his sister, hoping it would help. After seeing that look, Effie seemed to freeze. He didn’t want to scare her, but at least the shaking had stopped. She met his gaze with her own, searching for the reason he was suddenly so angry, Ramsay assumed.  
Then her eyes moved down from his eyes to his lips. Ramsay held his breath, wondering if she was thinking what he was thinking. Chewing down on her bottom lip nervously, she moved her gaze downwards. For one awful second, he thought she’d noticed the bulge in his trousers. But she simply took his hand and turned it over, lightly tracing his palm with her delicate fingers.  
“What’s my future?” He asked gently. Effie loved magic. She spent hours with his pack of cards, practising tricks. She was shit at them, but he never told her that. Wordlessly, Effie inched a little closer and turned to face him a little more, before pressing his open hand to her budding breast. Ramsay was too shocked to speak, or move his hand away. Through the fabric of her school shirt, he could feel her nipple stiffen. He didn’t even protest when she leant in and brushed his lips with her own. Her mouth tasted like toothpaste.  
“Eff, no.” He pushed her back gently. “We can’t.” Effie looked hurt, as if he had just struck her. Dipping her head to try and hide her tears, Ramsay could see her bottom lip start to tremble.   
“Even you don’t want me.” She whispered. Opening his mouth to speak, Ramsay discovered he didn’t have the words. He hated seeing her so upset, feeling so rejected and alone. He was all she had.  
Ramsay didn’t even think before forcing her head up and kissing her. It wasn’t like how she had kissed him. It was forceful. Urgent. Effie clung to him with need, her tongue clashing against his clumsily. Somehow, Ramsay had barely noticed, she was on her back, pinned down beneath him. Again, he could feel her stiff nipples beneath her shirt, and Effie released a whine as he ground his hips against her. Whether it had been a fearful whine or a needy one, Ramsay didn’t know. Not a single intelligent thought crossed his mind, it were as if the need he felt had blinded him. He wasn’t even aware if Effie protested when he pulled her knickers down. She was still clinging to him though, and gasped as he slipped a finger inside of her. Clamping a hand down over her mouth, Ramsay groaned as he felt how tight and wet she was.   
Ramsay was no virgin himself. On this estate, it was rare for anyone over the age of fourteen to be a virgin. If you were, you got beaten up. Mother always had friends around and when he was eleven, one of them had stopped him on his way back from the bathroom. Mother had been passed out on the sofa. They’d done it on the lounge floor.  
He’d fucked a few virgins before. They got wet so easily. Effie, it seemed, was no exception. She held onto him tight as he loosened her up a bit; her fingers digging into his back. “You want this, don’t you?” Ramsay growled, taking his hand off of her mouth for a moment.  
“Yes…yes…I want it, please…” She whined. Ramsay needed no more encouragement, and clamped his hand over her mouth again, using his other hand to undo his trousers. He didn’t even take them off fully, just enough so that he could thrust with ease. Not wanting to hurt her, he breeched her slowly, her whimper of pain caught in his palm. Once he was fully inside her, he took his hand away from her mouth and stroked her hair.  
After that, his animal instincts took over. His hips snapped against her, harsh and rough. Effie gasped and writhed beneath him; her face creased in pain. Eventually the pain seemed to lessen, and she groaned quietly, arching up to try and meet his frantic thrusts. Her hands slid up and down his back as he rutted into her.  
He never felt her hands tightening on his shoulders, and barely heard her say his name. “Ramsay, Ramsay slow…slower…I think…I’m blacking out…blacking out…” She panted. “It feels…like…death.” Effie gasped. “A small death.”   
Ramsay didn’t stop, not until he felt another set of hands claw at his waist.  
“Get off of her! GET OFF OF HER!” His mother screamed, and Ramsay howled in pain as he felt something sharp slash his side. Upon seeing his mother, Ramsay pulled out and quickly leapt off the bed, stuffing himself back into his trousers. There was a wetness on his side just below his ribs, and it wasn’t until he saw the bloody blade in his mother’s hand that he realised she’d cut him.  
“You…you…” He stammered.  
“I knew it! I fucking knew this would happen. Sick in the head, both of you eh? Sick sick sick in the head!” His mother screeched at them.   
Behind her, Effie was now stood on shaking legs, tears staining her cheeks. When mother span around to face her, he could see her beginning to pant with fear. “I always knew you’d be a little slut. A sick little fucking whore!” She shrieked. To Ramsay’s horror, his sister’s eyes rolled into the back of her head and she collapsed into a heap on the floor. He went to go to her, only to leap back when mother span back around, slashing at him with her knife. Ramsay also began to pant. His sister’s thighs were slick with blood. What had he done? Holy shit, what had he _done_?  
“What the fuck were you thinking?” She snapped. It struck him that mother’s hand was trembling, and her eyes were wide and fearful. “Answer me!” She commanded with a trembling voice. Staring at his sister’s limp form, he scrambled his brain for something, anything, that would make this all okay.  
“I…I forgot…she was…I forgot she was my sister.” His shoulders slumped. It wasn’t even an excuse, and the truth was, in the heat of the moment, he _had_ forgotten.  
“You _forgot_?” His mother sneered incredulously. Hot tears seared his cheeks and he wiped them away roughly with the back of his hand, staring at his sister whose figure was now blurred by tears.  
“Don’t look at her! Get out. You sick fuck, don’t look at her!” His mother lunged at him with her knife, driving him back until he was pinned against the door.  
“Mum please! Please, stop.” He wailed, covering his head with his arms and cowering from the flailing blade.  
“Get out!” She screamed over and over.  
“Please.” He whimpered, certain he was about to be cut to pieces. Fearing it, even. Suddenly, the whooshing sound of a blade cutting through the air ceased, and he peered up to see her looking down at him, her gaze filled with grief. “Get out of my house.” She ordered brokenly. Ramsay had never seen her looking so vulnerable.  
Turning away and placing his hand on the door handle, he was about to obey when he remembered his sister. “What about Effie?” He asked, turning back to face mother but not daring to look at his sister. “What will you do to her?” His voice shook. He feared he already knew the answer.  
“I’ll deal with her.” His mother’s voice was steel again; her eyes as cold as ice. Ramsay’s eyes fell to the knife that was now held in a firm, steady hand.  
“No.” He said, his voice unwavering. “No. I won’t let you do that.” Before she could protest or order him out again, Ramsay threw her to the ground, kicking the knife from her grasp. She tried to claw at him and grasp his throat, but Ramsay had been in plenty of fights and knew how to avoid an opponent’s grasp. Gripping her hair, he pulled her head up before slamming it back down onto the floor, knocking her out cold. The apartment fell silent. It was too quiet here. He could feel the walls closing in on him and could have sworn he could hear his mother screaming at him from inside his head. Closing his eyes, he pushed the faces away. They’d always been there, waiting for a weakness, searching for a crack. That’s why Ramsay had to be harsh sometimes. If he didn’t fight, he’d lose. He couldn’t let them break through.  
“Oi! Shut the fuck up! Don’t make me come up there!” The cunt from downstairs yelled, thumping on their ceiling. The yelling was a welcome distraction, and Ramsay got to work; stuffing their clothes into the bag Effie used for school. When it came to picking her up, he wrapped her in his big coat that went down to her knees and hid the blood. There was no point wasting time washing her. They needed to get out quick, though Ramsay did take a moment to tread heavily through the flat, grinning as the cunt downstairs started threatening and cursing again. “Good luck with that, you fuckers.” He smirked before carrying his sister out the door.


	59. Trapped

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those hardest to love need it most  
> I watched our bodies turn to ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we're whizzing forward now. This chapter takes place six months after Effie's disappearance, and she's still missing.

Clenching his fist, he watched as the flesh turned from red to white beneath the ink. He smirked as the words ‘dance for me’ rippled as his skin crinkled. Then came the familiar, blessed sound of keys in the lock. Not moving from his spot, he turned his head and watched as the door opened and the grave-faced guard appeared; his size spanning the width of the doorway.  
“Damon.” He said with a voice as boring as his face. They felt no need to use second names anymore as was so common in prison. “Mord.” Damon replied with a mocking grin. “Time for me to fly free is it?” The sullen idiot fingered his batten and growled, moving aside so Damon could escape. And he did. Fortunately, the hallway he was led down was free from other inmates. Damon couldn’t stand to see any more of their faces for another second. Practically skipping down the hallway, he whistled ‘Ace of Spades’ to himself. He was free at last.  
Well, almost.  
Once he’d reached the end of the corridor and Mord had unlocked another door, two more officers were waiting for him. One of them smirked at him and held up something that looked like a watch, but was missing the essential clock. “It’s tagging time.” The officer chuckled. Rolling his eyes, Damon placed his foot on a chair and yanked up his trouser leg, resisting the urge to kneel the fucker in the face as he fastened the tag around his ankle. The thing on his leg felt alien; restricting him, though it was only on his lower leg.  
“Tight enough?” The officer asked, straightening up.  
“Yeah. Too tight.” Damon muttered, his earlier cheerfulness quickly fading. It was like wearing a collar that read ‘if he’s fucked up, please return to the coppers’.  
“Good. Just checking.” He replied, with a tone that really got under Damon’s skin. Before he could lose it though, the other officer stepped forward and began to read out orders. “Every day between the hours of seven am and seven pm you’ve got to be in your house, okay? Or it goes off.” She warned.  
“I ain’t got a house.” Damon shrugged. Slight complication.  
“Says here you’ll be staying with a Ms Letitia Beesbury.”   
“What? No I ain’t staying with her, no way!” Damon growled, clenching his fist again, trying to fight off the anger that began to eat at him.  
“Yes you are.” The other officer said. Damon looked at him and curled his lip. “Otherwise, bleep bleep. We’ll arrest you. Bang you up. Probably bang you about while we’re doing it.”   
Tilting his chin back, Damon readied himself for the challenge.  
“He’s joking.” The female officer pointed out. Damon was almost certain he wasn’t. Pulling his trouser leg back down to hide the tag, Damon straightened up and set his mouth in a grim line, suddenly not so keen to leave with the knowledge of who was waiting for him beyond the door. Though upon thinking about it, he really didn’t want to be back in prison again.   
The two officers walked in front of him, leading him through another set of corridors until he saw natural light coming through the windows in the door at the end of the hallway. He could almost smell the freedom. Once outside, he paused and took a deep breath. Of course he had been allowed outside for exercise, but the air out here seemed to smell different. Maybe it was the lack of unwashed inmates smoking. Showering had been a dangerous mission, especially if you were a younger inmate. He’d seen one boy called Wex, who was a lot smaller than him, be fucked bloody by three other inmates. In the showers, you were naked and vulnerable, and the older inmates were like a whole pack of…  
_Don’t even think about him._  
Gritting his teeth, Damon had to blank his mind to stop his anger from getting out of control again.  
“You going to stand there all day or are we actually going to get rid of you?” The officer sneered. They were stood behind him now, the freedom stretching out ahead of him. The tag on his ankle weighed him down a little though, making his steps towards freedom harder to take.  
Once beyond the gate, he saw her leaning against the wall, fag in hand, laughing with two other officers who were on their fag break.  
“Mum.” Damon muttered, nodding his head quickly. She looked over at him; her face splitting into a stunning smile. “Alright Damie? How you been?” Her voice was almost gentle. Clearly they were having a good day. Even so, Damon could think of nothing better to say than “No one calls me Damie now mum.”  
His mother looked taken aback for a moment, despite having known how much Damon hated the nickname she called him, even if she was in a good mood.  
“Alright. Hello…Bob.” Damon rolled his eyes as she and the two officers started laughing.

The drive home was excruciating, though made bearable by the stop off on the way where his mother bought a bottle of fine wine, and a four pack of Carlsberg. “They’re for you.” She told him, as if it was some generous gift. Damon refrained from telling her that he thought Carlsberg tasted like cat piss.  
Other than that, they drove home in silence, unsure what to say to one another. He was almost relieved when they turned up the driveway and his childhood home came into view. When he was younger, he had considered the place a prison, but with his recent experience he’d be quite happy to sleep in an actual bed again, and to be able to go outside whenever he wanted. Well, between seven am and seven pm anyways. Damon did his best not to dwell on the tag, which seemed to be growing tighter by the second.  
“Do us a favour and pick Jamie up from school at three will you? He’s dying to see you.” His mother said, climbing out of the car, wine bottle clasped firmly in her slender fingers.  
“Why? Where you going?” Damon didn’t feel like doing anything except relishing his freedom, but he wouldn’t mind seeing Jamie again. He hadn’t seen him since before…  
Damon clamped his eyes shut, curled his hands into a fist, and ground his teeth together.  
“Research.” His mother winked and tapped her nose before turning away and heading into the house, leaving the door open for him as she continued on into the house. “Right! Where’s my little fuck monkey!” She yelled drunkenly, though she hadn’t yet started the drink. From upstairs, Damon could hear a man’s voice calling back. Perhaps picking Jamie up from school wouldn’t be quite so bad after all.

“Damon!” His brother yelled and ran towards him across the playground, just as he had the last time he saw him. Instead of shushing him, Damon crouched a bit and opened up his arms, lifting him the moment Jamie reached him. He was heavier than the last time Damon had lifted him, and must’ve grown almost two inches since he last saw him. They hadn’t seen each other for almost a year, and Damon had missed his ninth birthday while he was in prison.  
“Alright slugger?” Damon laughed, putting him down.  
“Yeah! Mum said she forgives you, and that you’re living with us now.” The boy babbled.  
“Looks that way don’t it? Come on, this place reeks of a fucked up education system.” He grinned, ignoring the disgusted glances of the mothers that lined the pavement.   
“Can we get chips to celebrate?” Jamie asked as Damon lit a fag.  
“Sure thing bruv.” They swaggered off down the road towards town, which was only a five minute walk away. Jamie babbled on ceaselessly, telling him all about how shit school was, and about the boys who were picking on him. “What they picking on you for?” Damon growled, annoyed that anyone would dare touch his little brother.  
“Because I’m short.” Jamie mumbled. It was true that Jamie was shorter than Damon had been at his age, but even so. “I’ll walk you to school tomorrow yeah? And you can point them out to me.” He said, taking a pull on his fag.  
“Are you going to beat them up?” Jamie asked, his eyes shining with hope.  
“Nah, just make them think I am.” He grinned down at his little brother who smiled back, clearly happy with that deal.  
“Damon! Oi!” Turning, Damon saw a man jogging towards them.   
“Skinner? What the fuck?” He hadn’t seen him for several years, as Skinner seemed to disappear shortly after Ramsay had left.  
Damon unknowingly clenched a fist.  
“How you doing man?” Skinner asked, hugging him briefly and slapping him on the back hard.  
“Not bad, you?” It was good to see a familiar face, even if it was as bad as Skinner’s. It wasn’t that the guy was ugly, his nose was just a bit too big and his eyes were too close together.  
“I’m alright. Who’s this little bruiser?” They both looked down at Jamie, who didn’t flinch away from Skinner’s sharp stare.  
“This is my brother, Jamie.” Damon told him, placing a proud hand on his little brother’s shoulder.  
“Oh yeah? And how old are you kid?” Skinner crouched a little so he was at the same height.  
“Nine.” Jamie replied, straightening up to make himself look taller.  
“Double-figures soon then. You’ll be out partying in no time.” Skinner laughed. Damon’s hand tightened on his brother’s shoulder. “Not if I can help it.” He intervened. Standing up, Skinner turned his attention back to Damon. “Fancy a drink? We need to catch up.”  
“What are we, middle-aged women?” Damon arched an eyebrow.  
“Getting that way. I sure got the aches for it, but that’s war wounds for you.” Skinner said it with a hint of pride.  
“War wounds?” Damon made no attempt to hide his surprise.  
“Yeah man, didn’t you know? I was in Afghan for like three years.” Skinner chuckled.  
“Well our country’s fucked if we have to rely on you protecting us!” Damon joked. Skinner’s smile fell away. “I did good. Funny though. I come back here and there’s fucking pakki’s everywhere. I can’t get a fucking job because they’re crawling all over the place.” Skinner’s lip curled in disgust, and Damon pushed Jamie behind him a little.  
“Alright mate, this isn’t fucking ‘This Is England’.” He laughed nervously. “How about that drink? I promised Jamie I’d get him chips anyway.” Damon shrugged, trying to take the edge off of the conversation.  
“Yeah, sure.” Skinner’s tone was a little flat, but Damon took that as his cue to turn away and start heading up the street towards the nearest pub.   
“I gotta be back by seven though.” He told Skinner over his shoulder, not wanting to see his expression.  
“Why? Mummy got a curfew on you?” Skinner laughed scathingly.  
“Nope. The fuzz have.” He said through gritted teeth, yanking his trousers up to show Skinner the tag.  
“Shit man. What did you do?” Damon was about to tell him when he caught Jamie staring up at him, his gaze curious.  
“Another time.” He promised, not wanting Jamie to know.


	60. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You made the wrong move,  
> Honey love is not a game

The pub was a dreary, drab place, but Damon had been going to it since he was fourteen. Mainly because they served you even if you were clearly underage, but also because it was where all Ramsay’s boys had hung out. The landlord always had a story to tell, though whether the stories were true or not Damon didn’t know. They used to always be too drunk for it to matter.  
Damon had forgotten quite how disgusting the place was, and searched long and hard to find the cleanest booth for them to sit in. In the end they settled for one near the door, so they could get fresh air, and seemed clean apart from a suspicious white stain on one of the seats. Damon made sure Jamie was sat as far away from it as possible.  
“What are we getting? Three beers? It’s on me.” Skinner said, pulling out his wallet.  
“He’s nine.” Damon pointed out, though he was certain he himself had done a lot worse when he was Jamie’s age.  
“Alright, what do you want mate?” Skinner looked over at Jamie.  
“A pint of Foster’s please.” Jamie smiled.  
“He’ll have a coke.” Damon corrected sternly. “Nice try.” He grinned at Jamie, ruffling his hair. “And get him a bowl of chips too.”  
Inside the pub was dead, as it would be at this hour. Some guy was passed out at the bar, but besides that the place was empty.  
“How do you know Skinner?” Jamie asked in a hushed whisper.  
“Used to hang out with him is all.” Damon shrugged, watching Skinner as he ordered the food and drinks.  
“Was he one of Ramsay’s friends?” Jamie’s tone was one of discomfort; childish worries.  
“Yeah, why?”  
“You got different after you started hanging out with them.” Jamie mumbled miserably. Damon couldn’t argue with that. After he’d joined Ramsay’s gang, he’d become one of those kids he now despised; the ‘Jack the lad’ type.  
“It’s just a drink, alright? You finish your chips and we’ll head home, I promise.” Jamie’s face broke into a smile and they both fell silent until skinner set the drinks down in front of them. “Chips will be out in a minute, okay kiddo?” He informed, sitting down heavily opposite them. “So, how’ve things been since I left for queen and country?” Skinner asked, taking a deep drink.  
“Bit boring. Just life.” Damon shrugged.  
“That’s bullshit!” Skinner laughed loudly. “I hear the Greyjoy’s took over the place, especially after Ramsay left.” Fortunately, Damon’s clenched fists were hidden beneath the table. “Bumped into Alyn a little while ago. Said you saw Ramsay a little while back.”  
Damon only managed a sharp nod.  
“So how is he? Living the rich life?”  
“He’s changed. Bit of an insensitive prick to be honest.” Damon muttered bitterly, sipping his pint.  
“Doesn’t sound much changed to me. Perhaps you were just too young to notice.” Skinner shrugged. “Anyways, Ramsay might not have changed, but that sister of his sure did. Fucking hell.” Skinner whistled and his lips stretched into a leer that made Damon’s skin crawl. “Now she _is_ something. Out in Afghan we used to get the women’s magazines just so we could pass her around. Bit of a lack of imagination out there I suppose. I would have told them I’d shagged her but I doubt anyone would have believed me. Yeah, top dollar shag she was.” It was taking every ounce of self-control Damon possessed to not knock the smile right off of Skinner’s smug face. In an attempt to distract himself, Damon focused on how tight the tag around his ankle was.  
“Went missing, didn’t she? That’s the last I heard anyway.”  
“Yeah.” Damon agreed quietly. “About six months ago I think.”  
“Shit. Ramsay must be fucking livid. I think she was the only person he actually gave three fucks about.”  
Damon struggled to keep his mouth shut. It was best to just forget. The past was dead and buried, and he got nothing from reliving it. He’d learnt that much in prison.  
Before Skinner could say any more about Effie, Jamie’s chips arrived, and they all sat in thoughtful silence while he ate. Damon took the next few minutes calming himself down, and thankfully Skinner’s train of thought had moved off the unwelcome subject during the pause.  
“It’s you’re birthday next week innit?” He asked Damon.   
“Oh…yeah, it is.” He’d almost forgotten.  
“Let’s go out and celebrate! All the lads, like we used to. Not Ben though, obviously.” Skinner added grimly.  
“Why not Ben?” Damon frowned.  
“Keeled over didn’t he? Little while after his kennels got shut down. Was only a matter of time I suppose. Coppers were bound to get a whiff of the fighting dog breeding shit he was doing. And no one knows how old Ben was. He was old when I was your brother’s age. Anyway, we’ll go out. Us and the lads. Just like old times.” Skinner said, raising his glass and downing the rest of his pint.  
“Can’t. Tag, remember?” Damon reminded him.  
“Fuck sakes. Alright, we’ll come to yours.” He declared, wiping his mouth and burping.  
“No, I don’t think…”  
“We’re coming to yours. We can drink, get high, whatever. Could call some girls up. Wouldn’t be a birthday party without you getting laid would it?” Skinner laughed. Damon forced himself to chuckle, trying hard to ignore the sick feeling in his stomach. Glancing over at Jamie, he was relieved to see the boy was halfway through his food.  
“Or maybe we won’t need to hire anyone.” Skinner’s attention was now fixed on something outside the grubby window, and Damon followed his gaze. His heart stopped for a moment, and the sickening feeling grew when he spotted Myranda stood outside, finishing off a fag.  
“Reckon she’d be up for it?” Skinner waggled his eyebrows suggestively, his lips stretching into a leering grin.  
“No.” Damon replied adamantly, looking away.  
“Why not? Alyn told me you two were pretty close. Said you were engaged.” Damon could feel Skinner’s eyes on him as he turned to look at Myranda again. He’d forgotten how hot she was, and he could hardly remember the last time he’d fucked someone. No doubt she’d be livid if she saw him; they hadn’t spoken since he’d just disappeared. But Damon could be charming, and he knew Myranda well.  
“Go speak to her if you want. We’ll be alright, won’t we kid.” Damon looked from Myranda, to Jamie, and back again. His brother’s eyes were pleading, but so was Myranda’s dangerously short skirt. “I’ll be back in a sec okay? Finish your chips.” He promised, leaping up from his seat and heading for the door. She was just stamping out her cigarette when he stepped outside. Looking up from the stamped out butt, Myranda’s face paled. “Alright?” Damon asked, moving towards her, staring down at his feet. When Myranda said nothing, he looked up. Her face was expressionless. “Hey.” He tried again. Still nothing. “Look, ‘Randa, I…” The slap took him completely by surprise, and was powerful enough to make him stumble back a little. “Okay, I probably deserved…” The second was just as hard as the first, and he could feel both his cheeks burn red. “That one too.” He was ready for the third one, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. “Now you’re pushing it.”  
“Where the fuck have _you_ been?” She snapped, crossing her arms and pouting. With her arms crossed, Damon judged it was safe for him to talk, though he made sure he was ready to leap out of the way of another strike.  
“I had to go…away…for a little while.” He mumbled.  
“Away? Really? Because I heard you fucked off to Ramsay and his little whore of a sister while I was stuck here with your shitty fucking Argos wedding ring.”  
_She’s not a whore_.  
“I know, okay? I’m sorry. I got into some shit. I didn’t want to drag you into it. I’m sorry okay?” Was all Damon could manage. What else could he say? “I…I fucked up.” He added.  
“No Damon, you fucked _Effie_. When you were supposed to be fucking me!” Myranda snarled.  
“I didn’t fuck her!” Damon roared back, the volume of it making Myranda’s eyes widen fearfully and she stepped back a few paces. Turning his back on her, he took a moment to calm down. “I’m sorry.” He said quietly, facing her again and running a hand nervously through his hair.  
 “It’s alright.” Myranda said, her voice sickeningly sweet. When he met Myranda’s gaze, he found she was smiling; that hot, seductive smile she used to give when she wanted something. What the fuck had he done? He’d lost it, that was all.   
Then it clicked. He’d been away from Myranda for far too long.  
His lips stretched into his customary goofy grin, and all memory of their earlier conversation was forgotten.  
“Can I buy you a drink? To say sorry?” He asked, looking her up and down.  
“Well that can be a start I suppose.” Myranda shrugged, smirking. They both headed for the doors, and Damon tried pushing first, forgetting it was a pull. Myranda’s slender fingers wrapped around the brass handle and she pulled it open, stepping back gracefully. “You should have pulled.” She laughed.  
“Yeah? Well I will now won’t I.” Damon grinned, leading the way to the bar.  
“I’m not fucking you.” Myranda told him. Damon looked at her and raised his eyebrows. “I’m _not_ fucking you.”

They did it in the toilets.   
It didn’t take long seeing as Damon hadn’t had a decent shag in a while, but Myranda didn’t seem to mind and she finished shortly after he did. Handing her knickers back to her, Damon did his trousers back up and let himself out of the cubicle, checking his reflection in the mirror quickly. His face had reddened a bit, but other than that he looked okay.  
“Cheers for that yeah?” He said, heading for the door.  
“Wait, what?” The sickly sweet Myranda was gone, replaced by the sour one he remembered leaving behind.  
“What?” Damon snapped, annoyed at her sudden change of mood.  
“You’re seriously just going to leave me in the fucking toilet like some dirty washed-up slag?” She screeched, her eyes crazed.  
“Well what do you want then?” Fortunately Myranda was a skinny thing, so it didn’t really hurt much when she threw herself at him.  
“What do I want? WHAT DO I. FUCKING. WANT?” She screamed madly, striking him with each word. He’d forgotten she had her mad, violent spells too. It used to amuse him when he was younger. Now he just found it irritating.  
“I want a fucking wedding ring, that’s what I want. I want someone who’s going to make a decent woman out of me for a change!” Even she seemed shocked by her own words. Damon stared at her for a long time, and watched her madness ebb away to fear.  
“You still want to marry me?” He asked, shocked.  
“Yeah?” She replied incredulously.  
“You want to marry me?”  
“Fine.” Myranda shrugged. He wasn’t even sure if she’d taken that as a proposal or not. Damon wasn’t even sure he’d meant it as one.  
“Fine.” He sighed. Myranda suddenly had tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe this.” She whispered, smiling tearfully.  
“Wait, what?” She didn’t answer the question, kissing him instead.   
“I’m going to tell everyone!” Myranda squealed excitedly. “After you’ve got me another ring of course.” Then the excitement gave way to resentment quicker than Damon could blink. “And if it turns my finger green again I will shove it so far up your arse you’ll cough the bloody thing up.” She promised darkly. Then the smile was back, and she pecked him on the cheek before fleeing from the toilets.  
A few moments later, after he’d dunked his head in a sink full of freezing cold water, Damon staggered out from the toilets into the steady hands of Skinner. “Alright mate? What’s up? Myranda left pretty quick.” Skinner chuckled.  
“I…I think I just got engaged.” Damon gasped between breaths.


	61. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your little brother never tells you but he loves you so  
> You said your mother only smiled on her TV show  
> You're only happy when your sorry head is filled with dope  
> I hope you make it to the day you're 28 years old

The week seemed to pass by pretty quickly. At the weekend, their mum announced she was going away to start the book tour for her latest book. Once again, she’d forgotten about his birthday, and Damon dealt Jamie a sharp pinch when he tried to remind her. With the house empty, it meant he could have the lads around more, and Myranda too. He’d managed to scrape enough money together for a decent engagement ring, so she was happy enough. During the day, Damon dropped Jamie off at school before wandering the streets in search of a job. He never found any. “It’s them fucking pakki’s innit.” Skinner growled when he’d told him. “They kill our men out there and steal our jobs back here.” Damon had said nothing about that. He’d mixed with all sorts in his drug-dealing days, but didn’t think trying to defend Eastern Europeans to Skinner was a good idea.  
After he’d asked around everywhere he could think of, Damon went and picked Jamie up from school and had to cook dinner for them both. He quite liked the routine of it. The boys and Myranda would usually come around at ten, when Damon would order Jamie to head upstairs to bed.  
Last night had been just the same, yet Damon had woken up earlier than usual. It was Saturday, his birthday, and he felt different somehow. Glancing over at the clock, he saw it was only six o’clock. He couldn’t even leave the house yet.  
Rolling out of the bed that Myranda had spread herself across, Damon pulled on a pair of boxers and wandered over to the window, picking up his phone off the side. His head was pounding, and the beer cans that littered his bedroom floor suggested why. Myranda snored softly, clearly out of it. Skinner had texted him already, asking what he should bring tonight. Paracetamol sounded like a good idea, but he didn’t want to look like a pussy. Sitting down on the window seat, Damon looked out across the garden and into the rolling fields beyond. They lived just outside the estate, so at least they got a view of what freedom and fresh air looked like. Damon had always liked his childhood home, it had been the people in it that had been the problem.  
Quickly growing bored of the view, Damon idly toyed with his phone, flicking through the photos absent mindedly as he recalled how much he hated birthdays. They had always been a disappointment when he was a kid. Mum would hardly ever remember. His dad never turned up when he promised he would. What few presents he’d get didn’t seem to matter, and were no fun if you didn’t have anyone to play with. By the time Jamie was born, Damon had started selling the toys at school and using the money to buy fags.  
All thoughts of his previous pitiful birthdays were wiped from his mind when a picture on his phone made him gain focus. When the fuck had he taken that? It was a photo of Effie, naked from the waist up, arms crossed over her chest, just covering her breasts, smiling her Effie smile. Her eyes were a little out of focus, and a bottle of whiskey was on the bad beside her, suggesting she was drunk. There were three more pictures, the last one featuring her with her breasts bare, smoking a spliff, her hair all messy, the way he liked.  
And then his vision blurred, and Damon had to throw the phone down so he could press the heels of his hands over his eyes to try and stop the tears. He sat like that for a while until the doorbell rang. Leaping up, he padded out of the room, glancing at himself in the mirror quickly. His eyes were a little red, but besides that he looked okay. The doorbell rang again in sharp, impatient blasts. “Alright, alright. Fucking hell.” Damon muttered under his breath. Who the fuck was calling around at six in the morning anyway. It occurred to him that it could be police, coming to check up on him. Praying that there were no illegal narcotics lying around after last night, Damon opened the door.  
It wasn’t the police, that much was clear.  
She was quite a bit shorter than him, her hair bleached until it was almost white, her eyeliner drawn on thick so she looked a bit like Taylor Momsen. Looking closer, he saw the liner was smudged a bit and there was a deep cut on her right cheek, and a bruise around her left eye. She wore a burgundy Harrington, like the one he used to have. It looked brand new, but the t-shirt she wore as a dress beneath it was grubby and covered with dirt and blood, as were the trainers she wore.  
But despite the hair and the makeup and the grubby clothes, he still recognised that smile.  
“Miss me?” Effie said, with a voice so sure it were as if she’d never been through hell and back. His mouth opened and closed as he searched his brain for words. He’d thought she was dead, or worse. And he had just been thinking about her. It was as if he had just conjured her up. Maybe the drugs had affected him worse than he’d initially thought.  
“I brought your jacket back, well I bought you a new one anyways.” She was still speaking, her voice clear as crystal. Shrugging out of the Harrington, she held it out to him. Damon leapt back as the fabric brushed his arm.  
“Good to see you Effie?” She said, offering words to him.  
“Jesus Christ!” Damon blurted out, finally certain that she was really there. “It’s better than good!” Stepping towards her, he wrapped his arms around her slim waist and lifted her up, whirling her around. When her feet were back on the ground, he almost kissed her on the lips, before recalling his fiancé; passed out upstairs in his bed, and averted the kiss to her cheek. Burrowing his face into her neck, he breathed her in, holding her tight in fear that if he let her go she might disappear again.  
“Happy birthday!” She laughed when they eventually broke apart. Once again she held out the jacket for him to take. “Thought I’d get you a new one seeing as I bled all over the last one.” Effie chuckled as Damon took it.  
“You didn’t have to. How did you remember it was my birthday anyway?” He asked. She’d been through so much shit, it seemed like the last thing that was likely to be on her mind.   
“How could I forget?” Effie replied, her voice a little quieter. That was what reminded Damon of the first time they’d met properly. It had been on his fifteenth birthday, and Ramsay had given her to him as a present for the night. Now, six years later, just seeing her alive was enough of a gift.  
“Come in.” Damon said, unsure what else to say. Smiling gratefully, Effie followed him inside and he led her through to the kitchen. “Do you want a drink or something?” He asked, putting the kettle on.  
“Don’t suppose you have any fags do you?” Effie laughed. “Haven’t had one in days.” Damon threw a packet towards her after taking one himself, handing her the lighter with a grin. His smile faltered a little when she tilted her head back drunkenly after the first pull, like she always did. He liked it when she did that.  
“Okay, now I need coffee.” Effie chuckled.  
“Coming right up.” Damon turned away to make coffee, leaving Effie to sit and smoke in silence. He could feel her eyes on him, but it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable. It was just a good feeling knowing that she was alive.  
“I need somewhere to stay.” Effie confessed, so quietly he wasn’t sure she’d even spoken. Leaning against the kitchen side, Damon crossed his arms, awaiting an explanation. Effie shifted in her seat nervously. “Just for a bit, until everything’s…sorted.”  
“And what does that mean?” He asked gently. Damon had no objection to her staying, at least then he knew she was safe. But it was his mother’s house, and he was sure that Myranda wouldn’t be quite so keen.  
“I didn’t just run away, okay? Someone found me.” Effie tapped ceaselessly on the countertop, avoiding his gaze.  
“And who might this ‘someone’ be?” He didn’t want to sound like he was interrogating her, but there were so many questions.  
“An old client.” She shrugged. Damon knew all too well what she meant by that. “The Greyjoys were taken by surprise. Thought it best they leave me behind rather than chance getting caught. The client, Mr Baelish, he found me. Said he couldn’t take me home. It would be the first place they’d come looking for me. So I told him to take me to you instead.”   
“Why me?” Damon wondered aloud. Effie just shrugged. “How long will you be staying for?”  
“I’m not sure yet. Maybe a month or so? Just until they’re certain the Greyjoy’s are gone.” She looked at him then, her eyes pleading. “Please Damon. I can’t go back there. I can’t let them take me again.” Her voice was a tortured whisper, and her bottom lip trembled fearfully.  
“Of course you can stay. There might just be a few…issues, that’s all.” He admitted, chewing his lip nervously.  
“What issues?” As if on cue, floorboards creaked overhead and Damon clamped his eyes shut as Myranda’s sweet voice called down to him.  
“Where’s my birthday babe?” She sang. Opening his eyes slightly, he winced at the look of shock on Effie’s face. Moments later, Myranda appeared in the doorway to the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts. Instantly, the sweet smile fell at the sight of Effie sat at the counter, smoking a fag nonchalantly.  
“Who the fuck is that?” Myranda snapped angrily. Damon flinched again. He really wasn’t in the mood for one of her tantrums. “You remember Effie, don’t you?” He asked as casually as he could. Looking back to Effie, Myranda’s eyes widened and then narrowed.  
“Nice to see you again Myranda.” Effie said, smiling brightly.  
“What the fuck is _she_ doing here?” His fiancé hissed at him. Immediately Damon hurried over to her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Eff’s just in a bit of trouble is all. She’s going to stay for a while, just until things are sorted out at home.” He muttered softly, his gaze pleading. Myranda was blind to it though. “I’m not having that whore here!” She screeched at him. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no hurt on Effie’s face. She simply raised her eyebrows and kept whatever insults she had to herself. Why couldn’t Myranda do the same?  
“Come on babe. If Ramsay hadn’t taken me in I wouldn’t be here now. I owe him that much. Plus, it’s my birthday. Don’t spoil it, please.” He gave a mocking pout.  
“It’s for Ramsay?” Myranda raised an eyebrow. Damon tried to ignore that inquiry. “Yeah.” He shrugged, brushing it aside.  
“Fine. And yes, I know it’s your birthday.” She purred, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck. “But you ran off before I could give you your present.” Damon gasped as her hand slid down into his boxers.  
“Uh- ‘Randa, I…was just making coffee…later though.” He promised, stepping away and readjusting his pants. Yes. Definitely later.  
“Fine.” Myranda said curtly, flinging herself down onto a stool at the breakfast bar. “So Effie, you look different. Though you aren’t wearing much more than you were the last time I saw you.”  
“Nor you Myranda. Though I would say I’m wearing more than I was when we last spoke. I’ve got more to cover up now. Can’t say the same for you though.” Damon stopped stirring his coffee and snorted with laughter. It was true Effie’s tits were far more impressive than Myranda’s.  
“You think that’s funny do you?” Myranda snarled at him.  
“Come on babe, it is a bit.” Myranda pouted moodily, and Damon instantly put the cup down and went to her, slipping his arms around her again. “Still love you though don’t I.” He chuckled.  
“I’m still waiting for my coffee.” Myranda reminded him with a smirk. Kissing her cheek fondly, Damon returned to his coffee making.  
“So as it’s my Damon’s birthday tonight, we’ve got the lads coming around. They were wondering what to do about the lack of women, but it looks like that problem’s solved now.” Handing them their coffees, Damon glanced at Effie to see how she’d take that snipe before giving Myranda a warning glance, which she remained oblivious to.  
“I don’t do that anymore.” Effie said quietly, though her voice was sharp and cold.  
“Really? Damon told me you’d been kidnapped by the Greyjoy’s. We all know what happens to women that end up with them.” Myranda giggled girlishly, though her joy faded at the sight of Damon’s thunderous expression.  
“Yeah, I can barely sit.” Effie said jokingly, smiling at Myranda sweetly. Myranda barely seemed to notice, too busy focusing on Damon’s murderous looks. He didn’t want her to speak to Effie like that. She had no idea how much shit she’d been through. But he was certain Myranda wouldn’t be able to understand even if he tried to explain.  
“Anyway, I’m sure Skinner, Luton, Alyn, and Dick will love to see you again Effie. Maybe you can keep them entertained while I give Damon his present.” Looking from Effie to Damon, Myranda grinned wickedly as Damon suppressed a shudder. “We’re going to have so much fun together.” Myranda giggled.


	62. Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And it's all in my head  
> But she's touching his chest  
> Now, he takes off her dress  
> Now, letting me go

The guys were coming around at nine, which meant he’d had to put Jamie to bed earlier than usual. That proved to be difficult, as his brother was having too much fun playing videogames with Effie. She proved to be especially talented at Guitar Hero, and Jamie was not prepared to go to bed until he’d finally beaten her. Effie took Damon’s hint from his pleading gaze and allowed Jamie to win the next round. “Time for you to go to bed now Jamie.” She laughed.  
“Can we play again tomorrow?” Jamie whined, standing up and turning the TV off.  
“Sure thing!” Effie replied brightly.  
Thanking her for that, Damon followed Jamie upstairs before heading to his own room. As it was past seven, he’d had to send Myranda out to buy supplies, so his bedroom was empty as he changed for the party. There was still time before the guys arrived, and so he opened up the window of his cluttered bedroom and climbed out onto the roof of the extension, sat down and lit a fag. It had always been the place he’d gone to as a kid if his mother was on one again. Of course she’d have gone mental if she’d known he was on the roof, but fortunately she’d never caught him. It allowed him a great view of the countryside, and he used to breathe in the taste of freedom. Now that he was older, he knew the world was so much different. You weren’t ever truly free. There was always someone you owed something to.  
“Mind if I join you?” He turned at the sound of Effie’s voice and nodded his consent. She smiled gratefully and climbed out the window, sitting down beside him. She herself lit a fag, but they didn’t speak for a while. Perhaps she felt no more need for words than Damon did.  
“I used to sneak out here when I was a kid.” He told her. Effie just nodded, not asking what he used to hide from. “Every kid needs a place to hide.” She admitted.  
“So do adults.” Damon laughed. “We just pretend we don’t.”  
“Ramsay and I used to hide inside the duvet covers. Not the best hiding place, but I always felt safer.” She said, staring out wistfully. “It’s not the same when you grow up though, is it? Because when you’re a kid, your fears are all…real. Embodied in monsters under the bed. But when you grow up, they’re inside your head.”  
“I dunno. I think monsters can be real when you’re older too, they’re just harder to spot.” Damon shrugged.  
“Yeah. They’re disguised as human beings.” Effie laughed. They both knew who she was talking about.   
They smoked together in silence for a time, watching the smoke drift away on the breeze.  
“What happened to you Eff?” He asked quietly.  
“It’s not exactly birthday chit chat. A lot of things happened. Some shit, some not.” She shrugged casually, as if that shit hadn’t been caused by a psychotic drug dealer.  
“Wasn’t just ‘things’ though, was it? It was Euron fucking Greyjoy. He was fucking dangerous…I mean…how the fuck are you still alive?” The words came out harsher than he had intended, but Effie remained calm. At least on the surface.  
“What makes you think I’m not dangerous too? My mother always said so.” She sneered.  
Damon couldn’t look at her, and closed his eyes to try and push away the memory of what Ramsay had told him, about the night he and Effie left home.  
“You aren’t dangerous Eff.”  
She just smiled; that Effie smile that said ‘you don’t know me, and you never will’.  
“All damaged people are dangerous. They know they can survive.” Effie told him quietly, stumping out her cigarette. Not knowing what to say, he followed suit and stood up, offering a hand to help her up. She didn’t take it, and stood up by herself. “So, getting married then?” She asked with a small smile.  
“Looks like it.” Damon couldn’t even muster a chuckle.  
“Congratulations.” She said, with an unenthusiastic tone. Damon stared at his feet awkwardly. “Let’s go get fucked.” Before Effie could climb back through the window, Damon grabbed her arm and pulled her back.   
“Please, Effie, be careful. The guys…they’ll think they can just…you know, and I might not be able to stop them.” He confessed gravely. Her brows furrowed, and she pried herself out of his grasp. “Stop thinking I need saving, Damon. I’m beyond that.” She muttered with a scowl, climbing through the window before he could say anymore.  
_I’ve lost her_ he thought miserably. _It might be for good this time._

The only clothes she’d had was the t-shirt she’d been dumped here in, so Effie asked Damon for another. He watched, intrigued, as she cut off the sleeves and fashioned a dress. She’d cut so far that it revealed a bit of the bra beneath. Damon worried it was too short and that the guys would get the wrong impression, but he refrained from suggesting it.  
Myranda was back by the time he went back downstairs. “We need a fucking car.” She snapped the moment she saw him, slamming the shopping bags brimming with alcoholic drinks onto the table angrily. Damon thought it best to remain silent. He was barely able to afford her engagement ring, a car was out of the question; especially since Skinner had shut up shop when he’d joined the army, and so no longer ran the garage.  
Fortunately, before his fiancé could make any more of it, the doorbell rang, signalling the guys’ arrival. Eager to be away from his moody other half, Damon hurried to answer it; opening the door and being instantly deafened by boisterous cheers. By the look of it, they were drunk already.  
“Oi oi! Here’s the birthday boy!” Luton bellowed.  
“If fifteen’s a crime, who’s going to get arrested first on the twenty-first? Let’s get fucking mental!” Alyn added, opening a can of beer as he staggered into the house after Luton. Skinner came last, considerably sober compared to the other two. “Happy birthday mate.” He said quietly, taking his hand and pulling him into a laddish hug. Thanking him, Damon pulled away and felt something in his hand. Opening it up, he saw a pouch of white powder. “On the house.” Skinner winked, following the other two into the house. Before he made it to the lounge though, Effie appeared at the top of the stairs, making Skinner stop. Closing the door, Damon watched; anxious as to what might occur. Effie didn’t hesitate, even when she saw Skinner. She carried on down the stairs, still only in the cut up t-shirt dress and her scruffy trainers. It occurred to him that maybe he should have lent her some of his mother’s clothes, but he somehow suspected she wouldn’t approve of leopard print.  
“Effie?” He heard Skinner gasp. It irked Damon somewhat that he was able to recognise her instantly and he hadn’t, though he had thought she was dead.  
“Skinner.” Effie replied, smiling her Effie smile. She brushed past him effortlessly, sweeping into the lounge. Skinner watched her go, his mouth gaping open. “Holy shit.” He breathed.  
“What?” Damon asked flatly, pretending not to notice that her arse was hanging out the bottom of the t-shirt.   
“When did she get here?” Skinner asked, his lips stretching into a leering grin.  
“This morning.” Damon shrugged, keeping his gaze on Skinner. “But she’s been through shit.”  
“So?”  
“So…just don’t.” Was all Damon could manage, slumping his shoulders in defeat. Skinner’s grinned widened. “Ramsay ain’t here now. She’s anyone’s game.” He chuckled, heading into the lounge. Sighing, Damon watched as he sat down next to her on the couch.   
_Stop thinking I need saving._  
Her words rang loud and clear in his head. Damon clenched a fist, and prayed Effie knew what she was doing. Opening his eyes, he followed them all and sat down in the armchair opposite the sofa, resigning himself to watching Effie and Skinner conversing.   
Before Effie had moved away, she never was allowed outside her room unless Ramsay called her out. He used to like to punish her in front of everyone for fun, though maybe it would also make them pay higher if it made them want her more. Damon had always hated it when she was spanked over Ramsay’s knee for all of them to see. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he always preferred Effie’s arse just as it was.  
_Stop thinking about Effie’s arse_ he ordered himself.  
Myranda was in shortly after him, and settled herself down into his lap; handing him a beer. Damon distracted himself with alcohol as best he could, though occasionally he would glance over to check if Skinner and Effie were sat any closer. They never were. Skinner hadn’t so much as touched her, yet Damon still got a sickening feeling every time he saw them together, and seeing Skinner making Effie laugh was almost unbearable. He had little time to dwell on it though seeing as Myranda was now drunk enough to begin climbing him. Straddling him, she rained wet kisses over his face, finally landing on his lips. Her mouth tasted of alcohol, but Damon was glad for the distraction and so wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her further onto him.  
“Who’s up for narcotics?” At the sound of Skinner’s offer, Myranda pulled away and squealed a delighted “Me!” Alyn and Luton followed.  
“How about you Eff?” Damon watched Skinner turn to her, and Effie smiled wickedly.   
“Sure.” She shrugged.   
“Sweet.” Everyone exchanged looks of excitement and surprise, eager to see what Effie would be like on drugs. Damon didn’t want to see that. He never wanted to see her on drugs again.  
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He asked her from his spot in the armchair. Turning to him, Effie’s smile faltered slightly. “Drugs don’t always agree with you.” He reminded her, his mouth set in a grim line.  
“I was the Greyjoy’s guinea pig for the past six months. I think I can handle it.” Damon could feel Myranda’s fury-filled gaze on him, and so said nothing as Skinner pressed a tab into Effie’s palm, then threw the bag of them to Alyn to hand out. Taking his, Damon grimaced as he washed it down with what remained of his beer. When Myranda resumed kissing him, her touch was rough, and she bit down on his bottom lip hard enough he tasted blood.  
He really hated birthdays.

One line of coke and several pills later, Myranda shifted to whisper in Damon’s ear. “I’ll be upstairs when you’re ready for your present.” She purred, tugging on his earlobe with her teeth before clambering off of him and staggering from the room. Watching her go through the drugged up haze, and trying to actually make sense of her words in his dope-filled head, Damon scanned the room. Alyn and Luton were playing poker, but besides that the place was empty.  
“Where’s Effie?” Damon slurred, struggling to sit up.  
“Went to bed.” Alyn shrugged, not looking up from their game.  
“And Skinner?”   
“Toilet.” Luton told him, his gaze remaining on the cards in front of him. Groaning, Damon forced himself onto his feet, swaying violently. “I feel like shit.” He muttered to no reply. Stumbling out of the smoke-filled lounge, he headed for the front door in a quest for air. The night was cold, and a shirt and jeans was hardly enough to keep the chill out. Shivering, Damon tilted his head back and drank in the air. The shivering was growing increasingly violent, and was suddenly accompanied by the terrible sense that there was someone watching him. Spinning around to face the house, Damon looked up into the window of the spare room to see Effie staring back down at him; her expression unreadable. Sighing with relief that it was only her watching him, Damon grinned at her. Still her expression remained the same.  
Then there was movement behind her; a shadow on the curtain that was moving towards her, and Damon was gripped by a sudden urge to cry out a warning. That was until a shirtless Skinner appeared behind her. Slipping one hand around her waist, he pulled her hair back to expose her neck and planted a kiss there, before he spotted Damon watching them. Skinner grinned, and slid his other hand around her, pulling her back towards him. Effie looked away from Damon, and for one hopeful moment he was certain he had seen regret on her face. But before he could be certain, Effie turned in Skinner’s arms.  
It was when they began kissing that Damon’s trembling seized him and he fell to his knees, vomiting violently.


	63. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a wanderess  
> I'm a one night stand  
> Don't belong to no city  
> Don't belong to no man

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Damon stood up on shaky legs. Unable to bring himself to look up at the window again, and instead headed back into the house. Then he was unsure where else to go. He couldn’t bring himself to go upstairs knowing they were up there. The images in his head were bad enough. He didn’t want to go back into the lounge either. It was impossible for him to just sit and play cards with Skinner and just pretend none of it was happening.  
Vodka. That was his companion of choice.  
Stumbling into the kitchen, his mind made up, Damon found the bottle he’d been hiding in the cupboard and got a glass. Slamming them both down onto the kitchen table, he slumped down into a seat; his suddenly weak legs grateful for the rest. He poured himself drink after drink until there was nothing else but the foul taste of misery and alcohol.   
He was three quarters of the way through the bottle when movement in his peripheral vision made him turn. Skinner swaggered into the kitchen, his hair and clothes all messed up. “Alright?” He asked with a cocky smirk. Remaining silent, Damon poured himself another glass. “What you sitting here on your lonesome for?” Skinner chuckled, throwing himself down into the chair opposite. “Give us some of that.” He added, taking the bottle of vodka before Damon could argue. “You drunk all this? Man, you are going to be fucked tomorrow.” Ignoring him, Damon downed it in one and tried not to grimace.  
“So you shagged Effie then?” Damon slurred, choosing to choke out the words rather than vomit.  
“Yep.” Skinner grinned. “Fucking hell, I’m starving. Got any biscuits? I got the munchies real bad.” He stood up and began searching through the cupboards.  
“Why didn’t you say…why didn’t you tell us?” Damon asked miserably, not even able to look at Skinner without picturing Effie’s hands all over him. He clenched a fist as Skinner began to laugh at him. “Because unless my cock is actually up your arse it’s not your business where it is the rest of the time.” He chuckled, grunting in celebration when he found a packet of digestives.  
“You didn’t…force her, or anything, right?” Damon stammered out, unsure which answer he would prefer.  
“Didn’t need to.” Skinner shrugged, his smug smile still spread across his face.  
“What…but, what about Ramsay?” He asked, lacking any other words. If Skinner was reminded of Ramsay, maybe it wouldn’t happen again.  
“Ramsay? What’s it got to do with him?” Skinner frowned through a mouth full of biscuits. “Effie’s her own woman now.” Quicker than Damon could blink, Skinner snatched the vodka from his grasp and took a swig. “And man, what a woman she is.” He laughed, before swaggering from the room.

In the end, Damon had to be carried up the stairs and put to bed by Alyn and Luton, not that he remembered any of that. When he woke up, he was immediately blinded as Myranda ripped the curtains apart. When his vision finally came back, the sight wasn’t any less pleasant. His fiancé was glaring at him, her hands on her hips. “Would you like to tell me what the fuck happened to you last night?” She snapped way too loudly.  
“Shh kids, can we use inside voices please?” Damon groaned, pulling the covers up over his head.  
“No we fucking can’t.” She snarled, yanking the covers back off of him. _Here we go_.  
“I was up here for hours waiting for you. I thought it would be nice to give you your present before your birthday ended but oh no, you just couldn’t stop yourself from drinking until you had to be _carried_ upstairs and put to bed like a fucking child. Is that what I’m marrying? A child? Because I wanted a fucking man first!” She screeched at him as he tried to bury his head into the pillows.  
“Babe, please, can we do this when the little gnome inside my head has stopped driving a mallet into my skull.” When all he heard was an exasperated sigh, he lifted his head slowly, wondering why she’d stopped yelling. Myranda was stood by the window in her underwear, looking out at the view miserably. Groaning, Damon forced himself to climb out of bed and go to her.  
“What’s up babe? Look, I’m sorry for drinking too…”  
“You were staring at her.” Myranda cut him off, her voice cold but quiet. When he tried to slip his arms around her waist, she pushed him off. “I wasn’t…”  
“Don’t you fucking deny it!” She screamed, whirling around to face him. “You couldn’t stop looking at her, when you’re supposed to be looking at me! Oggling her and getting jealous because Skinner got to fuck her!” Then her fist struck his face. Had he been in a better state, he may have been able to take it. But with his brain still foggy from drink her strike sent him stumbling back onto the floor. When he tried to stand up, she kicked him in the groin and then punched him on the nose so hard his hand came away bloody when he wiped it.   
“You’d rather fuck that whore than me!” Myranda’s face was red and wet from tears, and she turned away from him so they could both calm down and clean themselves up. Standing, Damon hung his head in shame. It was true, he’d been stupid and blind. He _did_ love her, he’d just forgotten.  
“I’m so sorry.” He muttered, approaching her again and tentatively hugging her from behind. To his relief, she only sobbed and turned around instead of hitting him. “I’m so sorry.” He whispered into her thick brown hair. “I fucking love you ‘Randa.” He confessed.  
“Then fucking act like it.” Myranda choked out, sobbing hysterically.  
“I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” Pulling away slightly, Damon stared down at his feet, like a child that had just been scolded. “Can you forgive me? For being a twat?” He mumbled. Pinching his chin between her finger and thumb, Myranda forced his head up so that she could see his bruised and bloodied face. “I’m never going to lose you again.” She declared through gritted teeth. “You’re mine, okay?”  
“Okay.” Damon nodded, hissing as her grip on his chin tightened before she released him.  
“I’m going to go have a shower.” She announced, flouncing off to the bathroom, her tears all dried up.

Effie was already in the kitchen when Damon went downstairs; smoking a fag and staring out of the window. Remaining unnoticed, Damon watched her for a moment, and wondered what she was thinking about, before remembering he wasn’t supposed to be staring at her. Though he suspected it was more Effie’s fault than his own. She had a quality that made people look at her.  
“Morning.” Damon said finally, thinking it best to not let his mind get carried away if he wanted to avoid another beating.  
“Hey.” Effie replied flatly, glancing at him only for a second before returning to stare out through the glass. “I made coffee.” She told him in the same lifeless tone.  
“Cheers.” Damon replied, pouring himself a cup and sitting down, waiting for her to say something. To his dismay, she remained silent.  
“You okay?” He asked eventually.  
“I’m fine.” Effie told him, turning away from the window to face him. _Just a bit of a mess_ Damon thought. Her eyes were red, though it was hard to tell whether she had cried, failed to sleep, or was just suffering from the amount of alcohol and narcotics she had consumed last night. “What about you?” She stumped her cigarette out and kept her gaze down. “Heard you were put to bed.”  
“Seems I wasn’t the only one.” He regretted the bitter words the moment they escaped his mouth. When he glanced up, Effie was smiling. A small, meaningless smile. “I don’t get it.” Damon confessed, shrugging.  
“Get what?”  
“You!” He snapped. “And…and Skinner.” Running a hand nervously through his hair, Damon kept his gaze fixed on his mug of coffee.  
“There’s nothing to get.” She said. Again, her tone was flat and uncaring. “You’ve got a black eye growing.” Effie pointed out. Rage boiled up inside him. It angered him that she had noticed his scars, and it angered him more that she bore none at all. Not that he was wishing for her to have been harmed. He just wanted her to see how repulsive Skinner was. Sure, he was a good mate, but other than that Damon couldn’t think of any other redeeming qualities.  
“Myranda and I had a fight.” He muttered.  
“She hit you?” That irked him so much he had to ball his free hand into a tight fist.  
“Yes. So?”  
“She shouldn’t have done that.” He could hear the whisper of anger in Effie’s tone now.  
“I deserved it.” Damon admitted. He _had_ deserved it. It was Myranda he was marrying after all.  
“No. You didn’t.” Effie argued. Before Damon could protest, she turned away from him again. “If you love someone you should never hurt them.” There was a hidden meaning there that Damon didn’t wish to dwell on, fearing what it might be and what it would mean for him.  
“Skinner’s coming around again tonight.” Damon grounded his teeth together at those words, not happy about the fact he would have to endure a second night of Effie and Skinner together. “I hope you don’t mind.” She added, as though she were twisting the blade.  
“Why would I mind?” Damon asked coldly. Turning again, Effie gave a small smile and shrugged. “It’s your house.” Before he could reply to that, Jamie stumbled into the kitchen, still groggy from sleep.  
“Alright mate?” He asked, his anger quickly dispersing when he saw how tired Jamie looked. The noise from last night had probably kept him up until the early hours of the morning.  
“Yeah.” His brother replied, yawning. “I’m hungry.” Jamie added.  
“Me too.” To his surprise, it had been Effie that had spoken. “Want me to make you some breakfast?” She asked, her cold manner suddenly gone for the sake of Jamie, who just nodded and staggered sleepily to a chair at the kitchen table. Blanking Damon, Effie headed to the fridge in search for something for breakfast, pulling out a box of eggs and a packet of bacon. “Will this do?” Jamie’s eyes lit up at the sight, making both Damon and Effie laugh. She got to work immediately, frying the eggs and the bacon, as well as making toast.  
By the time Myranda wandered into the kitchen, they were all sat around the table eating in silence. “Well isn’t this sweet. Any for me?” She asked. One look at Effie told Damon there wasn’t, and he was worried about what Myranda might do if it seemed like they were leaving her out. Out of the corner of his eye, Damon glimpsed Jamie look to Effie and roll his eyes. It was no secret that Jamie didn’t like his fiancé, though he’d never actually told Damon why.  
“I’ll make you some.” Again, Damon was surprised to hear Effie’s voice. He didn’t allow himself to look at her though, painfully aware of Myranda’s gaze burning into him.  
“How well-trained she is.” Myranda giggled, throwing herself down into the chair beside his own and inching closer until she could rest her hand on his thigh. “Like a little bird. Or a dog. Ramsay always preferred a well-trained bitch.” Curling his hand into a fist, he denied himself the chance to shoot Myranda a warning glance.  
“That’s true. I’m surprised you managed to last so long with him.” Effie shot back. Instantly Myranda’s hand tightened on his thigh. As if to make matters worse, Jamie snorted with laughter, spitting up his orange juice.  
“That’s enough.” Damon said, not wanting the sniping to go any further. Myranda shot him a warning look. “Both of you.” He added quickly so that it didn’t look like he was jumping to Effie’s defence. Myranda still regarded him cruelly though while Effie blanked him altogether, continuing to cook Myranda’s breakfast. Damon was of half a mind to make sure she didn’t slip anything into it.  
“I’ll finish that, Eff. Why don’t you and Jamie go play Guitar Hero or something.” He suggested.  
“Yes children, you go and play.” Myranda added with a sweet smile. Putting the spatula down, Effie wordlessly abandoned her cooking and turned to Jamie. “Come on.” She said gently, and Jamie leapt up from his chair, following her from the room. A part of Damon wished he could go with them. Standing, he moved over to the hob. Turning momentarily, he gave Myranda a disapproving look. “And you say I’m the one acting like a child.” He muttered.


	64. Couples

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road takes a hold on you  
> Becomes the whole of you  
> You're looking at the stolen youth

Effie was only partially focused on the screen, the rest of her mind still in the kitchen as she listened out for the slightest noise that signalled trouble. She had grown particularly good at sensing when strife was brewing, and it had proved incredibly useful the past few months. It had probably saved her life a few times.  
Fortunately she couldn’t hear anything other than low voices and pans clashing occasionally. No raised voices. Nothing being thrown. No one being hit.  
“You’re losing so bad.” Jamie snorted, making Effie smile.   
“Yeah well you’ve had more practise!” She argued, trying to focus more on the game. It was none of her business what happened between Damon and Myranda now. _I don’t care_ she told herself, painfully aware that it was a lie. “Can we do Ace of Spades next? That’s my favourite.” Jamie asked. Nodding, Effie was glad for the distraction. Though even the rock music wasn’t enough to cover up the sound of both Damon and Myranda going upstairs. Pausing the game, Jamie tilted his head until they heard the rhythmic thumping from upstairs, followed by Myranda moaning. It was slightly louder than Effie remembered, though maybe that was just because Effie was there.  
“Bitch.” She heard Jamie mutter under his breath.  
“Don’t you like your future sister in law?” Effie asked with a grin.  
“No.” Jamie hissed through gritted teeth, his brows furrowed.   
“Why not?” They both glanced up when Myranda started ordering Damon to go harder. Effie swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. “She doesn’t like Batman.” Jamie confessed bitterly. Biting back laughter, Effie paused for a moment to compose herself. It wasn’t fair to laugh at him. Everyone had their problems, and no matter how small, they were still worth respecting.  
“So you like Batman then?” She asked, putting down the controls and crossing her legs.  
“Yeah!” He answered excitedly, also casting his controls aside. “He’s the best.”  
“Okay, but who’s your favourite villain.” Effie grinned, as though that was the real question. Jamie answered without missing a beat. “The Joker of course.” Effie’s grin widened.  
“I couldn’t agree more.” She laughed.

Skinner came around at ten, and Damon had grudgingly leant her another one of his t-shirts. Once again, it barely covered her arse, but Effie hardly cared. It covered what needed to be covered. Not that Skinner seemed to care as Myranda opened the door and he swaggered in as if the house belonged to him. Effie was in the kitchen grabbing a can of beer. Even with Myranda there, it didn’t stop Skinner from forcing her to turn around and pressing her up against the fridge. “Alright princess?” He purred. Effie just smiled her Effie smile and kissed him, harsh and quick. Skinner smiled triumphantly. “What’s going on tonight then?” He asked, turning to Myranda, who’d been pouring herself a drink. Ignoring her, Effie continued to look at Skinner. He’d lost quite a bit of weight from his time in the army, and his jawline was sharp. His eyes, although a little close together, were sharper still.  
“Dunno.” Myranda mumbled.  
“Well, seeing as Damon’s got that ball and chain on his ankle, what say we make a night of it? A movie, pizza, alcohol, drugs.” Skinner shrugged, turning to grin at Effie, who arched an eyebrow. Alcohol and drugs sounded like a good plan to her.  
“Sounds good.” Myranda agreed. “What movie?”   
“What you got?” Skinner asked.  
“I don’t fucking know.” Myranda snapped.  
“Well let’s fucking find out then.” Skinner laughed. “You coming?” He turned to her.  
“I’ll be there in a sec.” Effie replied quietly, smirking. “Just want to check something.”

As she’d suspected, Damon was where she’d found him yesterday; outside on the roof, smoking a fag.  
“Fancy sharing your smoking spot again?” She asked, trying to sound cheerful. Damon nodded, not looking at her. “Skinner here yet?” He said flatly.  
“Yeah.” Effie shrugged. “He’s downstairs. It’s movie night apparently.”  
“Wow. Like proper couples.” Damon snorted. Effie rolled her eyes, sat down and lit a fag. “We aren’t a couple.” She told him. Couples required caring, and Effie was done with that. Unable to think of anything more to say, they drifted into silence for what seemed like an eternity. Annoyingly, Effie found herself trying to think of something to say. It irked her that she should feel the need to speak first.  
“I’m sorry.” Well that was unexpected. “For what happened, you know, this morning.” Balling her fists, Effie resisted the urge to hit herself. Was she seriously apologising for Myranda’s inability to act like a mature, sane human being.  
_Why are you with her?  
_ “If you want me to go, I understand.” Was what she came out with instead.  
“Nah you’re alright.” Was all Damon replied with. The shrug just seemed to twist the blade. Again, Effie had to stop herself from hitting her thigh when she realised she was willing him to care more.   
_Beg me to stay._  
She despised feeling so on edge, and shifted uncomfortably as they fell into another painful silence. The cigarette was quickly burning out due to the fact her nervousness meant she was sucking the life from it.  
“You should probably head in. Skinner will be wondering where you got to.” Damon muttered bitterly, avoiding her gaze.  
_Look at me. Please, please._  
“So?” Effie shrugged, too annoyed to even think about Skinner right now.  
“Well if you’re seeing him you should probably, you know, see him.” One glimpse of his curled lip was enough to make her almost smile.  
“I’m fucking him occasionally, I’m not…seeing him.” She argued.  
_I wouldn’t. I can’t._

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Skinner grinned, considering ways he could open the window and listen in without being heard himself. “Planning when they can sneak in a quickie I’ll bet.”  
“Fuck off Skinner.” Myranda snapped, pouting.  
“Aw, come on Randa. You know it’s gonna happen. Effie’s fucking sex on legs, and Ramsay always used to say Damon was her favourite. I’d say yes even if it meant my balls being cut off after.” He was still grinning as her face curdled.  
“That was before. Damon’s engaged to me now. He’s mine.”  
“And Effie’s mine. Doesn’t mean we can’t…explore.” Myranda only considered stopping his hand before it ghosted over her arse.  
“I’m not fucking you.” She told him, keeping her gaze on her fiancé and the little whore.  
“Funny. I seem to recall you saying exactly the same thing to your fiancé a couple of weeks ago.” Myranda couldn’t stop a sly smile from creeping across her face.  
“Damon was Effie’s favourite. Probably still is, though I’m working on that.” Skinner chuckled, stepping closer until he was stood right behind her. “And we both know Damon isn’t…into what you’re into, shall we say?” She allowed his teeth to graze her neck before moving away.  
“Save your knives for someone low enough for you Skinner, like that bitch out there.” She snarled, pushing him off. Skinner never even stopped smirking, but neither did Myranda.  
“I’ll make you go low for me Randa.” He called after her. “Mark my words, they all say yes to Skinner in the end.”

Eventually, after a lot of debating, they had settled on a horror film. It had been Skinner’s choice, and though it hadn’t exactly set the mood for it, within fifteen minutes his hand was crawling its way up Effie’s t-shirt dress. The screams and gore from the film seemed to be having the same effect on Myranda. Every time Effie glanced over to where Damon was sat in the armchair, she had shifted position and was now straddling his thighs, twisting in an unnatural way so she could continue to watch. Effie tried her best to avoid looking at them; instead focusing on the terrible acting.  
“Want to move over? My lap is far more comfortable.” Skinner breathed in her ear.  
“I’m good.” Effie replied flatly, flinching as he slid a finger inside her knickers.  
“You sure?” He began to nuzzle her neck; licking and sucking at the skin.  
“Yep.” Effie replied, remaining quite unperturbed by his advances. Ignoring the orders in her mind, she glanced over at Damon and her blood seemed to freeze when their gazes met. Skinner was still working his hand inside her pants and tonguing her neck, and she didn’t stop him. Likewise, Myranda had her hand up Damon’s t-shirt and was working her hips over Damon’s crotch. Watching them was driving her mad, and her cheeks flushed when humiliation filled her. Forcing her eyes to deaden, Effie broke her gaze away from Damon and slid her hand into Skinner’s hair; forcing his head back and turning her own so she could kiss him fully on the lips, closing her eyes to block out the image of Damon and Myranda which seemed to be burnt into her mind.  
_Damon doesn’t want me anymore. He probably never did._

_Effie doesn’t want me anymore._  
Unlike most thoughts that saddened him, Damon wasn’t angry. He just felt…empty. Like there was nothing left for him, and he couldn’t even be bothered to fight that feeling anymore. He was shit, pure shit.  
Turning his head, he met Myranda’s lips with his own, forcing any thoughts other than the taste of her lips from his mind. Sliding his hands downing her back, he grabbed her arse and pulled her further onto him, making her gasp and giggle breathlessly. Taking it as a hint, Myranda began to straddle him faster and Damon released a groan when he felt a familiar heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. “I need you to fuck me hard tonight,” Myranda whispered. “Really, really fucking hard.” He couldn’t speak. Words were lost to him, because they required thought, and that was the one thing Damon didn’t want.  
“I want to go somewhere.” Effie’s voice broke through the lust-induced haze, but Damon couldn’t see her with Myranda in the way.  
“Where?” He heard Skinner reply. Right, she was his now.  
“Anywhere. Let’s just…fucking, anywhere.” Effie stammered, and Damon heard her leave the room.  
“See you Damon, Randa. You guys have a good night.” He could hear the smirk in Skinner’s voice, and once again did his best to block out the sound of him and Effie leaving. Together. A sudden wave of fear gripped him. Effie was leaving. What if she didn’t come back?

They ended up at some club on the estate. When they had lived here, Effie had never gone out on the estate at night before, at least not without Ramsay. The clubs weren’t that big on checking ID’s, so she would have gotten into any of them easily, but Ramsay had forbidden it. And of course she’d always done what he’d told her to.  
It was good to be out. Effie stood still for a time while Skinner bought her a drink; observing and drinking in the atmosphere. The raised voices, the loud music, and the pulsing bodies. The sense of possibility was tangible. She’d forgotten how much she loved just being amongst it all, and not working.  
After a moment she sensed a presence beside her, and turned with the expectation of seeing Skinner with her drink. The stranger smiled charmingly at her. He was alright looking, in an estate sort of way. “Alright?” He yelled over the music. “What you doing?”  
“The great Northern run.” She replied sarcastically.  
“What?” His brows furrowed together, clearly not bright enough for sarcasm. “Whatever. Want to dance?” Glancing over her shoulder, Effie scanned the thickening crowd at the bar for Skinner, but it was hard to see any facial expressions in the darkness. “Sure.” She shrugged. Immediately, the man’s hand slid around her waist and he guided her into the crowd. There was no messing about with this one. Instantly he moved in behind her; settling a hand on her thigh. Effie allowed him to move her in time with the music. Of course, after a while he grew bored with that, turned her around and started to kiss her. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Effie kissed back. That was until she felt a rough hand pulling her back.  
“What the fuck?” Skinner roared, stepping in between them. The stranger stumbled back, surprised by the sudden intruder.  
“S…sorry man, I didn’t know she was with someone!” He insisted.  
“Well you fucking do now.” She heard Skinner growl before he raised his fist and smashed it into the man’s shocked face. Effie stood and watched as the two men tackled each other to the floor. _They’re like toddlers_ she thought. _Squabbling toddlers, fighting over something they think belongs to them._  
Eventually the bouncers pulled them apart. The other guy came off worse, but Effie followed Skinner who was now being dragged from the club, still hurling challenging obscenities. Effie rolled her eyes.  
The moment he was freed outside, Skinner rounded on her.  
“What the fuck was that?” He snapped in her face.  
“What was what?” Effie replied calmly, a smirk playing on her lips.  
“Don’t you dare play dumb with me, fucking slut.” Skinner spat. Before Effie could even flinch away, Skinner struck her hard across the cheek. Somehow managing not to stumbling, Effie straightened up. There were no tears. She didn’t care enough to cry. With a swift, sudden movement, Effie grasped Skinner’s arm and twisted it so violently it almost popped out of its socket.  
“Argh…what the fuck…” Skinner gasped as she slammed him against a wall.  
“If you ever fucking hit me again, I swear I’ll break your arm. Got it?” She hissed into his ear. Skinner tried to struggle free of her hold, but the way she was holding him threatened dislocation if he tried to escape the wrong way, so he was forced to stay put. After a moment, when she felt the lesson had sunk in, Effie released her hold on him and stepped back. Skinner was grinning when he turned. “Anyone ever told you you’re pretty hot when you’re angry?” He asked, waggling his eyebrows.  
“A number of times.” Effie smirked.  
“So,” He sighed, slipping his arms around her slim waist. “Your place, or mine?”


	65. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has got so much love in her heart, that the thought of letting it out,  
> Showing her cards,  
> Scares her to death

It was both with relief and disappointment that he heard the front door open and close at six o’clock in the morning, signalling Effie’s return home. She’d gone back to Skinner’s. Skinner had fucked her good and proper. Had he kissed her the way she liked? Had she fallen asleep in his arms? Had she made those whimpering noises while she slept? The questions raced through Damon’s mind. He hadn’t been able to sleep, fearing he would never hear the door open and close. Fearing she would never come back. But she was back now, and though he was tired and his limbs were heavy as lead, he’d have to get out of bed in half an hour or so to get his little brother off to school. Myranda had gone home last night once they were done, saying she had work in the morning and had no more clean clothes with her. So Damon had stayed up all night, alone, trying desperately not to think about what Effie and Skinner were doing.  
Staring up at the ceiling, he listened to Effie’s movements. She hadn’t come upstairs, and was in the kitchen. When the kettle sounded, he guessed she was making coffee. A part of him was crying out in warning to just leave her be, reminding him that she didn’t want him anymore. But another part overpowered that voice, and Damon found himself rolling from amongst the soiled sheets, seeking out a t-shirt and some boxer shorts and heading downstairs.   
Effie was sat with her back to him, fag in one hand and a coffee in the other. If she was aware of his presence, she didn’t show it.  
“Morning.” His voice didn’t even make her jump. She didn’t even turn around. “Morning.” Effie replied, her voice dry and hollow. Moving forward, Damon tried for a glimpse of her face, but her head was bent; her face hidden by a curtain of hair. “You alright?” He asked, suddenly too concerned to worry whether she wanted him to care or not.   
“I’m fine.” Effie insisted in the same empty tone. Still she didn’t look at him, hiding behind her curtain of messy hair. It was piled on top of her head like a bird’s nest, the way Damon liked. Tired of her hiding from him, Damon placed a hand on her shoulder. “Eff.” He said quietly. “If something happened, you can tell me.” It didn’t matter to him what he meant to her anymore, he just wanted to know she was okay. His hand remained on her shoulder as she straightened up and slowly turned to face him. A deep bruise had blossomed on her cheek. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes, which suggested she had gotten no more sleep than he had.  
“Fucking hell.” Damon breathed. “Did Skinner hit you?” Effie refused to meet his gaze. “He did, didn’t he?” _I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking kill him._  
“Yeah, but he came off worse.” Effie forced herself to smile, but it was but a ghost of her customary smirk. Damon’s hand remained on her shoulder. “Where did you go?” He asked. Surely it must be over now that Skinner had hit her.  
“Back to his.” Effie shrugged, making his hand slide off her shoulder.  
“Back to…what?” Damon stepped back, his face incredulous. Why would she go back to him? Had she learnt nothing?  
“Back to his. Anyway, what does it matter to you?” Effie snapped, her voice full of venom and her eyes blazing.  
“Because I fucking care okay?” Damon shot back without thinking. It was happening again. One moment she was up, the next minute she was down. He wasn’t sure he could deal with it again. It couldn’t be the same as last time. She needed to know he cared, because she didn’t think anyone else did.  
Damon stared at her shocked face, waiting for a reply.  
“Then don’t.” Was all she said, turning away and taking a drag. Rolling his eyes, Damon went and made himself a coffee. The clanking of the teaspoon against the mug was the only sound as they both avoided each other’s gazes.  
“I’m sorry.” Effie eventually managed. “I’m sorry okay? I’m _fine_.” She insisted. “That’s what you need to know isn’t it?” When he finally looked at her, he could see pleading in her eyes.  
“Yeah. I guess it is.” Not wishing to think about her and Skinner anymore, Damon took a deep drink of his coffee until it burned his throat.  
“So, what you doing today then?” She asked casually, crossing her legs and stubbing out her cigarette.   
“Got to take Jamie to school, then I’ll have to trawl the streets in search for a job if I’m going to have any hope of paying for this wedding.” He chuckled. Effie offered a faint smile. “Maybe I’ll come with you. Can’t live in your t-shirts forever.” She chuckled.  
“You got any money? I’d offer you some but I’m skint.” Damon confessed. Again, Effie laughed. “You don’t think I escaped the Greyjoys before seeking out some compensation do you? I’ve got enough.” She shrugged. Damon stared at her, shocked. Last week he’d thought her to be dead at the hands of the Greyjoys, and now here she was; alive, and she had stolen from them too. She was smiling her Effie smile, and in that moment reminded him more of the old Effie he knew before she had moved away; the mischievous fourteen year old he used to love spending his nights with.

A few hours later, the three of them were stood at the gates of Jamie’s school to drop him off. “Woah. Déjà vu.” Effie said with a wistful smile. It still filled her with a little trepidation to be approaching the gates of her primary school. There was an element of sadness too, as primary school was where she’d been friends with Gendry before rumours sparked up and drove him away. They had been some of the best years of her life. Sure she’d been bullied, but so had Gendry. She hadn’t known what loneliness felt like then. Despite her mother, life had seemed so much sweeter.  
“Did you go to this school as well?” Damon asked, having to raise his voice over the hyper-active sea of school children.  
“Yeah, seems like forever ago now.” Effie laughed. The building had had work done, and it seemed a bit less foreboding than it had been when she went there.  
“Weird. This was my primary school too.” Damon admitted thoughtfully. Effie’s brows furrowed. Damon was only two years older than her. If he’d gone here too, they must have been at school at the same time. Yet they’d never noticed each other. It seemed strange to Effie that she had spent five years of her life so close to Damon without ever having known he existed.  
“Strange.” She chuckled, smiling wistfully. “We never even noticed each other.”  
“Yeah, my life would have been a lot easier if it had stayed that way.” When she looked at him, Damon was grinning that lopsided grin that told her he was kidding. Shoving him into a group of mums, they both laughed as they received dirty looks. A commotion at the far end of the playground drew the attention off of them, and they both turned to see the students gathered in a circle around two boys who were tackling and yelling at each other, throwing punches where they could.  
“Oh shit.” Damon sighed, starting across the playground without a moments thought. Hurrying after him, Effie grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back. “Damon! Damon, don’t! You can’t do anything. They’re just kids.” She reminded him. Her pleading tone managed to stop him, but he didn’t look at her, instead watching as his brother did his best to beat the other kid down. The other boy was much bigger than him, and was clearly overpowering Jamie. “He’s my brother.” He growled.  
“Yes. Your brother who’d hate to see you put back into jail.” Effie said coldly. Instantly, Damon’s straining against her grip ceased. She watched closely as he clamped his eyes shut and closed his hands into tights fists.  
_He’s pushing them away. I wish I could do that._  
Damon had just taken a step back when another voice joined the cussing and grunting. “Leave him alone dick head!” A girl had stepped into the circle now. She was all scrawny arms and legs, like a fragile bird, but her look was thunderous. Jamie and his opponent paused. The bigger kid had him on the floor, his fist raised ready to punch. “Piss off Sarah!” The bigger kid spat, turning back to Jamie. Before he could deal the final blow however, the scrawny girl ran up behind him and brought her foot up into his groin so hard it sounded across the playground and even made Effie wince. The kid creased and collapsed to the ground, wailing in agony. “Fucking yes mate!” Damon whooped childishly and leapt, thrusting his fist into the air in celebration as Jamie stood and gave the boy a kick in the stomach for good measure.  
Effie and Damon were still laughing when a piercing bell rang out, making the heads of all the school kids whip around as they straightened up. “Jamie Beesbury, Sarah McAllister. Headmistresses office now!” The teacher ringing the bell ordered. Damon was still celebrating his brother’s victory as Jamie and the girl crossed the playground, heads bowed.   
“Fucking brilliant.” Damon continued to grin as he watched his brother head inside. Smiling, Effie tilted her head and thought back to one of the many times she’d had to help Gendry out of a fight. She just hoped Jamie would never turn his back on Sarah like Gendry had her.  
“Come on, let’s head to town, or you’re going to run out of t-shirts!” Effie laughed, unthinkingly grabbing the hand of a hyper-active Damon and dragging him back through the crowd of disapproving mothers.

“Um, Eff?”  
“What?”  
“You’re still holding my hand.” They had reached the town centre, and it had only just occurred to him that it wasn’t…normal.  
“Oh, right…sorry.” Effie quickly moved away from him. Damon’s hand felt empty without hers in it. Wandering around in silence for a bit, they headed into shop after shop; Damon asking after jobs and Effie picking out clothes. She didn’t waste time trying stuff on, and sometimes spent less time than Damon did. Eventually she bought a handbag and a purse, but until then she kept a wad of cash hidden in her bra. It was surprising how much cash she had, but Damon knew from his own experience that drug dealers rarely kept credit or debit cards. It just made it easier for the police to track them.  
By lunch time, Damon had once again lost all hope of ever finding a job. Falling into a sullen silence, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and hung his head low. “You look like you could do with some food. Or several shots.” Effie said with a smile. Chuckling, Damon forced himself to smile. “I’ve been asking around for weeks now.” He admitted. “I’m beginning to think Skinner’s right.”  
“Argh, don’t even get me started on the racism.” Effie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not his best quality.”  
“So what is then?” Damon asked, just out of curiosity.  
“Well…he’s average in most of the important aspects.” She shrugged.  
“Important aspects?” All Effie had to do was raise her eyebrows for him to take her meaning. “Oh.” Now he _really_ needed a drink just to try and dislodge that image from his mind.  
“Plus he’s got drugs. Not that it matters. Like I said, we aren’t together.” He had to try hard not to show how relieved that made him.  
“You shouldn’t take so much of that stuff Eff.” He told her quietly.  
“I can handle it.” She giggled.  
“I don’t know if I can.” Damon admitted, suppressing a shudder as he remembered the last time she’d taken drugs.


	66. Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I liked her chaos  
> the way she blew into my life like a fucking storm,  
> tearing the nails and windows out of my soul  
> and opening me up to the sky.

Effie bought them both lunch, insisting on buying Damon’s lunch for him as she had dragged him into every shop. With food in hand, they headed to a sloping patch of green grass that was laughably called a park.  
“I fucking hate shopping.” Effie sighed, throwing herself down onto the grass, sprawled out on her back. Sitting down beside her, Damon lost himself in his own thoughts. “Damon? You okay?” The sound of his name brought him back to earth.  
“I’m fine.” He told her, mustering a smile. Still lying down, Effie looked at him, her brows furrowed together with concern. “I can smell bullshit a mile off. What’s up?” Damon didn’t even realise he was down until she pointed it out, and he still wasn’t completely sure what was wrong. Maybe it was the fact he couldn’t get a job anywhere, or that Skinner had Effie, or that he constantly had Myranda breathing down his neck and punishing him for every little thing he did wrong. Bruises had appeared now, twelve in total. Damon knew he was a fuck up, he didn’t need reminders.  
He glanced around the empty park, then turned back to find Effie staring up at the clear blue sky. Lying back beside her, Damon took a deep breath.  
“How do you do that?” Opening his eyes, Damon glanced over to find Effie staring back at him, her face inches from his own, lips slightly parted. He could taste her breath they were so close. It was as sweet as he remembered.  
“Do what?” He asked, trying not to focus on her soft lips.  
“You just seem to…stop. It’s like you make time pause for a moment, like you need a time out before you carry on.” That was exactly what he was doing. It was a trick he had been taught in his anger management classes in prison.  
“Just gotta let shit go Eff. No point letting it get you down.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t as difficult as it truly was. It had taken him months to learn.  
“But what if it won’t let me go?” Effie asked, her voice strained and hoarse, as though she were suddenly afraid. Looking into her ocean-blue eyes, Damon saw his own worries, and recognised that empty feeling. There was a hole in her that matched his own.  
He looked away, suddenly knowing why the gap was there. Even without seeing them, her eyes still haunted him. There was so much pain and fear there.  
“Do you remember the last time we were in a park?” Damon propped himself up onto his elbows. Silence ensued for a while as Effie tried her hardest to remember. “Not really.” She admitted, sitting up and tilting her head thoughtfully. “I’ve just…forgotten bits of me. They’re still there, but it’s just like…a bad dream, you know?”  
“You forgot about me.” Damon reminded her miserably.  
“That was different. It was the therapy. We had to write our stories down and anyone who hurt us just became a character. They couldn’t harm me anymore.”  
“Ramsay and Roose hurt you. You didn’t forget them.” Damon said bitterly.  
“Maybe they just didn’t matter to me as much.” He looked at her again now, hoping for an explanation. “They broke my mind, but you…”  
_Broke my heart_. She didn’t need to say it.  
“If I didn’t forget you, I didn’t think I could ever be happy again.” She didn’t look at him. Not once. He suspected she was too afraid to.  
“And what about now?” He asked, his question making her turn. “What’s changed?”  
“You.” She replied without missing a beat. “You’ve changed. Before you just wanted to live the hardest. You splashed about, not caring who got wet.” Damon thought back to the arrogant fuck he used to be. “Then you went to prison. I hear you caused quite a stir, acting out against anyone with the slightest bit of authority. You hated the thought of being trapped. Controlled. Someone’s puppet. I know how that feels.” She chuckled.  
“How the fuck did you…”  
“There was a boy in there. Scrawny. Quiet. Looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly.” Damon knew who she meant instantly.  
“Wex?”  
“Yes.” Effie nodded gravely.  
“Didn’t he kill someone?” Wex had been the boy everyone had ganged up against in prison. Damon had always thought it strange that he couldn’t defend himself, yet was capable of murder.  
“No. Euron did it, but they had Wex do the time. He shot my friend, she was with me the night they…”  
“I know, Ramsay told me everything.” Damon cut in, seeing her distress. “He called me when he realised you were missing, thought you might be with me. I drove to yours but he’d already left to try and find you by then. When he got back, he told us everything.” Damon tried his best not to dwell on what he had learnt that night. The thought alone made him want to vomit.  
“Us?”  
“Yeah, me and Domeric.” Though he’d stopped Damon from killing Ramsay, he’d quite liked Domeric. It had been a comfort to learn who Effie had been living with, and he truly seemed to care about Effie.  
“Oh, right. Domeric.” Effie stared up at the sky, her face creased with concern. Damon didn’t know why. Maybe she missed him. “He seems like an alright guy.” He admitted.  
“Yeah.” Effie sighed. “I’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for him.” She confessed. Staring at her, Damon sent silent thanks to Domeric. She may have been missing these past six months, and he may have thought her dead, but a world without Effie just seemed…empty.  
Suddenly aware of that painful twist of regret inside him, Damon pulled out his phone to distract himself by checking the time. “We should probably head back. It’s half two, and we’ve got to pick Jamie up in an hour.”  
“Half two?” Effie asked, sitting up suddenly.  
“Yeah. Why?” Damon asked, concern filling him as she hurriedly leapt to her feet. “Eff, where you going?”  
“Told Skinner I’d go around his this afternoon.” She muttered, shrugging into her new leather jacket.  
“What, you come when he calls now?” Damon blurted out without thinking. Raising her eyebrows, Effie pursed her lips. “I don’t come when anyone calls.” She replied coolly. “See you later.” And with that, Effie stood up and walked away. Damon watched her go, resisting the urge to call out and beg her to come back.

Effie kept herself entertained by trying to make her mind as blank as the wall she was staring at as she pogoed up and down. It was slightly irritating that Skinner wasn’t even bothering to try, leaving it all to her. Yet by the lustful sounds he was making, it seemed to be enough for him. She was almost relieved when she felt him stiffen and spill inside her. Lifting herself off of him, Effie threw herself down onto the bed, using the duvet to cover herself.  
“Smashing.” Skinner panted.  
“Wow.” Came Effie’s unenthusiastic reply. The ceiling proved to be no more interesting than the wall, though the colour of it reminded her of her old home, the flat she’d shared with Ramsay. Skinner lived in the same area. In fact, she could see her old home from the window in the kitchen. Not that she cared to, though she did wonder who lived there now, and if Mrs Hornwood still lived next door. Did she have anyone to tell her stories to? Was she even alive?  
“I’m fucking knackered.” Skinner hummed.   
_Yeah, because you put in so much effort._  
Effie would have asked why he was so tired if she had cared enough. When she’d left him this morning, he’d been fast asleep. She hadn’t slept at all, and wasn’t sure she’d be able to. There were too many things going on inside her head. It was so confusing, and she feared she’d begun to slip again.  
“Well I’m going to leave now.” Effie said curtly, getting out of bed and pulling on her clothes.  
“Okay, but you’re coming around later right? I’ve invited the guys around, and Myranda.” Skinner told her, sitting up in bed.  
“What time?”  
“Dunno.” Skinner shrugged. “Any time after eight.” Pulling on her t-shirt, Effie turned to face him, her brows furrowed together in confusion.   
“Damon’s curfew is at seven.” She reminded him.  
“So?”  
“So he won’t be able to come.” Effie refrained from rolling her eyes, trying not to let her disappointment show by turning her back on him and putting on her jacket.  
“Well that’s his problem. Just because he smashed someone and got caught for it doesn’t mean everyone else has to stop having fun.” His excuse only served to confuse Effie further.  
“He smashed someone?” She had never thought to ask why or how Damon had ended up in prison. Perhaps there was a part of her that didn’t want to know.  
“Yeah, about six months ago. It was just some kid. Almost died from it.”  
Six months ago. Effie put the pieces together. Could he have truly been that angry? Had he really cared that much?  
“Right. Fine.” She muttered quietly, still deep in thought. “I’ll see you tonight then?”  
“Yep. Toodlepip.” Skinner sighed sleepily, slumping back down into bed.  
“I’ll see myself out then.” Effie mumbled under her breath, slipping out of the room so silently it were as if she had never been there at all.

Once again, Damon found himself in bed. Alone. Wondering what the fuck everyone else was doing. Looking at the clock for perhaps the hundredth time, Damon felt his heart sink when he saw that it was only eleven. He didn’t even know if Myranda was going home after Skinner’s get together, or whether she was coming here. And there was no way of knowing where the fuck Effie would end up.  
_It’s always the fucking same_ he thought. _Everyone leaves me in the end.  
_  Closing his eyes, he tried again to get some sleep, but his mind wouldn’t be quiet. It was where all the worries and fears hid. There were even voices sometimes. It grew exhausting trying to push them away all the time, but they wouldn’t let him rest. They wanted him to be weak. They wanted him to stop fighting.   
When he first heard the banging, he thought it was inside his own head. The world outside seemed so quiet. It had to be inside his mind. The monsters trying to break the walls down. When he forced his eyes open however, it became clear that the racket was coming from his own front door. Leaping out of bed, Damon hurried downstairs. It only occurred to him once he reached the door that he should be careful. The forceful hammering did not seem friendly. Peering through the peep hole, he saw a warped Skinner desperately holding on to a crazed Effie. Damon threw open the door without a second thought.  
“What’s happened? What’s wrong with her?” He snapped, rushing towards Effie.  
“I don’t know man! She just tripped out and went batshit.” Skinner snarled back, shrugging Effie off. Damon managed to catch her before she fell. “Eff? Eff, look at me.” He commanded gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. She was trembling, and he could just glimpse her blue eyes through her mess of hair. “Damon?” Her voice was a ghostly whisper.   
_Not again. Please, not again.  
_ Throwing her arms around him, Effie clung on tightly. He was waiting for that scared feeling to return, the one he’d felt when this had happened before. But it never came. It didn’t scare him that she needed him. In fact, he liked it. Someone needed him. That seemed to matter now. Her fingers dug into his back, but the pain was a welcome one. She was afraid; afraid of losing it again. Burying his face into her hair, Damon held her so tightly he thought she might break.  
_She’s too strong for me to break.  
_ “Thanks for bringing her to me.” He said to Skinner quietly.  
“Well where the fuck else would I take her?” Skinner muttered sullenly. “See you around.” Without so much as a glance at Effie, Skinner headed back into the darkness.  
_You aren’t good enough for her anyway._  
“C’mon Eff, let’s get you inside.” Damon murmured.


	67. Cheat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dreams are like angels  
> They keep bad at bay  
> Love is the light  
> Scaring darkness away

Slowly, painfully slowly, they made their way up the stairs. When Effie jumped at the slightest sound or sharp movement, Damon reassured her gently; sometimes stroking her hair soothingly. He never lost patience. Not once. In truth, he didn’t mind. She needed him, and that was all that mattered.  
Once they had reached the summit, Damon noticed the scent of vomit and saw it was also tangled in her mess of hair. Instantly, he redirected her towards the bathroom, and Effie immediately tensed and began to panic, desperately trying to free herself from his grasp.  
“No!” She wailed. “No! You promised you’d take me home! Not again Ramsay, please. I know who’s in there now, and you promised you’d never make me do it again. Please, please!” She wept hysterically. It didn’t annoy Damon that she had mistaken him for Ramsay. Who was he to grow angry over what her broken mind was telling her?  
“Eff, it’s okay, see? It’s me. It’s Damon. You’re alright, Ramsay’s not here. It’s just you and me.” He said gently. Blinking rapidly, Effie’s eyes focused on him and she slumped, no longer straining against him. “I’m taking you to the bathroom. We’re going to clean you up, then put you to bed, okay?” Speaking slowly, he addressed her as he would a terrified child. Nodding mutely, Effie allowed him to lead her into the bathroom. It was like how she’d been the morning of the day she’d tried to kill herself. Except it wouldn’t be. Damon wouldn’t let it happen again. He _couldn’t_ let it happen again.  
Sitting Effie on down on the toilet seat, he turned the shower on to allow the water to heat up before setting about undressing her. “No!” Effie barked when he tried to take off her t-shirt, crossing her arms so he couldn’t get it higher than her stomach.  
“C’mon Eff, I’ve seen your tits a hundred times.” Damon chuckled softly. Avoiding his gaze, Effie allowed her arms to fall away and released a choked sob. It wasn’t until the t-shirt was off that Damon saw why she’d been so reluctant. On her chest, above where her heart beat, the Greyjoy Kraken had been intricately carved into her flesh.  
“Oh Eff.” He breathed as she broke into louder sobs. “It’s okay.” He promised, crouching in front of her and pushing her hair out of her face. “They aren’t here now Eff. It’s just you and me. They’re all in your head. They’re just characters, right? Characters in a story your mind has created. Close the book Eff. Shut them out. They can’t harm you. They can’t ever hurt you again.” Damon waited as Effie squeezed her eyes shut, her brows furrowed in concentration.  
Then she relaxed, and a peaceful smile played upon her lips.

Once she was all cleaned up, he helped her to her room and put one of his t-shirts on her. Then Damon wasn’t sure what else to do. He was afraid to leave her, though she had calmed considerably. The floor looked uninviting, but he feared sleeping in the same bed would be a step too far.  
In the end, Effie decided for him.  
Grabbing his hand and holding it in a tight grip, she pulled him down onto the bed. When they lay down beneath the covers, she was still trembling. “Hang on a sec.” He ordered softly, disentangling himself from her grasp, he crawled to the foot of the bed and undid the duvet cover, turning it around so the opening was facing her. “In you get.” He said. With a gentle smile, Effie clambered inside, and Damon followed. It was tight and quickly grew stiflingly hot inside. But Damon didn’t care. Effie had stopped trembling.  
With her head resting on his chest, his arms holding her tightly to him, Damon waited until he heard her begin to whimper and snore gently. It made him smile. Closing his eyes, he found that there were no fears waiting for him, nor were there voices.  
As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered if it was the same for Effie.

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was how stiflingly hot it was in this cotton-sheet tent she was in. The second thing was the rising and falling of the pillow her head was resting on. It took her a moment to realise the tent was in fact the inside of a duvet cover, and her pillow was Damon’s solid chest. Raising her head, she checked him over, her silent panic receding when she saw he was still fully dressed. Perhaps her movement had woken him, as Damon began to stir. Eyes opening sleepily, he smiled when their gazes met. “Morning beautiful.” He croaked.  
Effie froze.  
Damon’s contented look was swiftly replaced by one of shock. Had he thought she was Myranda? Had he forgotten they weren’t together? Or was that what he wanted?  
“Shit. Sorry.” He muttered, avoiding her gaze. Effie remained silent. She could say it was okay, but it wasn’t. None of this was. Suddenly, it wasn’t just the bed sheet that seemed to be suffocating her. She needed to get out. Get out of the bed, the house. This wasn’t meant to have happened. She’d thought this was done with. Finished. Killed off with the rest of it. But here, in bed with Damon and hearing his voice as soon as she woke, she realised it was still there; that feeling that had fucked her up so bad. That feeling she’d tried to kill.  
And she was terrified.  
“What’s the time?” Damon asked, getting out of the stuffy cover.  
“Dunno.” Effie shrugged miserably, climbing out after him.  
“Fuck! Shit! It’s twelve o’clock. Argh shit, Jamie was supposed to be at school three hours ago. Fuck!” He growled, pacing the room like a caged animal, any thoughts of Effie seemingly forgotten.  
“Shit.” She said flatly.  
“Jamie!” Damon roared, storming from the room. “Jamie wake the fuck up! You’re late for school!” Pulling on a pair of pyjama shorts, Effie followed him slowly, standing in the doorway as Damon disappeared into Jamie’s room.  
“Shit. He’s not here!” Damon called out.  
“Maybe he went by himself.” Effie suggested, too busy being wrapped up in her own thoughts to offer any useful help.  
“Yeah, a nine year old boy doesn’t get woken up but makes his own way to school. That seems likely.” Damon seethed through gritted teeth.  
“Well how the fuck should I know?” Effie snapped.  
“Fuck, I’m going to get into so much trouble for this. All because we were up so late last night…”  
“What, so this is my fault?” Effie crossed her arms irritably.  
“I warned you about what drugs do to you, and that you shouldn’t take them.” Damon replied, running a nervous hand through his hair.  
“Well maybe if things weren’t so fucked up, I’d be able to handle this shit without it!” She yelled back without thinking. Damon actually stopped to look at her, his face thunderous. “What shit? There is no shit, okay? You’re staying here until you can go home, and then you’ll leave.”  
“Like you left me? Don’t bullshit me Damon. You know exactly what shit I’m talking about.” _Please_ she wanted to beg him. _Please don’t tell me all this is just in my head._  
“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got to find Jamie.” He growled, storming back past her. Watching him go, Effie hugged herself to try and stop the trembling. She couldn’t stay here a moment longer, and so she hurriedly dressed and left before Damon could notice.

She was hardly aware of where she was headed until she arrived at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to Skinner’s flat. Assuming she should probably give him an apology shag, Effie carried on up the steps to his floor, pausing on the last when she heard familiar voices coming from along the corridor.  
“Fucking told you, didn’t I?”  
“What?”  
“That I was what you needed. A good hard shag.” Effie’s breath caught in her throat, and she glanced around the corner to have her worst fears confirmed. Skinner was stood in nothing else but his boxers, his arms wrapped tightly around Myranda’s waist.  
“Oh fuck off Skinner. This is the last time, got it?” She snapped, trying to feebly escape his grasp.  
“Nah, you’re going to keep coming. And coming and coming.” He chuckled.  
“I’m going now.” Myranda said, finally escaping. Skinner stepped back inside his flat. “I’ll see you later then.”  
“Nope.” Effie stepped back behind the wall, but not before she glimpsed Myranda’s smile. Waiting until Myranda was almost at the stairs, Effie stepped out onto the corridor, moving away from the steps quickly, aware that it would look like the perfect accident if Myranda pushed her down them.  
When Myranda caught sight of her, her eyes widened in fear and shock, and her face paled. Fixing her face into a frown, Effie slowly moved towards her.  
“Any good?” She asked flatly. Myranda tried to hide her confusion, but failed miserably. “I dunno what you mean.” She shrugged, trying to seem calm and casual.  
“I mean he’s a sensational fuck yeah?” Effie asked, inclining her head towards Skinner’s flat. Myranda shifted nervously. “Yeah well, I bet you could say the same about Damon after last night.” She snarled, for lack of a better insult.  
“You’ve no idea do you? Damon took care of me, like a decent person, whilst you went and shagged his best friend.” Effie snapped back, suddenly growing angry.  
“Why the fuck do you care? Skinner doesn’t belong to you. He doesn’t belong to anyone.”  
“Is that what you’ll tell yourself when you’re walking down the aisle, and Skinner is stood next to Damon. His best man.” Effie asked with a solemn smile.  
“Fuck you Eff.” Myranda growled.  
“Don’t fucking call me Eff!” Effie snarled back, resisting the urge to push her from the balcony.  
“So what you going to do then? Tell Damon? Break us up so you can take him for yourself?” Myranda asked with that cruel smirk. “Because Damon is mine. He belongs to me.”  
“You don’t deserve him.” Effie told her softly, shaking her head. “And neither do I.” She added.  
“You’re right.” Myranda giggled. “He deserves better than a whore.”  
“Which one of us are you talking about there ‘Randa?” Effie snorted. With a screech, Myranda leapt for her. But Effie was quick and well-trained. Grabbing her outstretched arms, Effie twisted her around and shoved her against the low wall, bending her over so that she was suspended and staring down at the forty foot drop. “No! No please, don’t. Please Effie, let me go! Please, please!” Myranda screamed. After a moment, Effie pulled her back, where she promptly collapsed to the concrete, panting and sobbing hysterically. “Please, I’ll end it with Damon. Just let me be the one to explain to him, please? I owe him that much.” She sobbed. Effie nodded wordlessly, before holding a hand out to her. Taking hold of it tentatively, Myranda allowed her to pull her up to her feet. Before she let her leave, Effie grabbed her arm, making Myranda cry out fearfully. “I’m warning you now Myranda, fuck with me again, and I won’t pull you back next time.” She promised. Myranda sobbed and nodded frantically, practically running away the moment she was released. Not bothering to watch her go, Effie stood on her own and closed her eyes, breathing in deep, trying to block out the faces.  
_They’re just characters, they can’t hurt me.  
_ When they were silenced, she opened her eyes and looked from the staircase to Skinner’s flat, wondering where to go now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a few more songs to the lists:  
> Effie: Hurricane - Halsey, Ease My Mind - Skrillex  
> Damon: Colors - Halsey, Stolen Youth - Roots Manuva  
> Skinner x Effie: Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You - Arctic Monkeys  
> Damon x Effie: Mr Brightside - The Killers, Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls, The Power of Love - Gabrielle Aplin
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions, I'd love to hear them!


	68. Boom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He loved her,  
> Not for the way she danced with his angels  
> But for the way the sound of her name  
> Silenced his demons

Closing the front door behind her, Effie paused before heading further into the house, listening out for Myranda’s voice. A woman’s voice could be heard from the direction of the kitchen, but it definitely wasn’t Myranda’s, and so Effie aimed for the kitchen.  
Damon was sat at the breakfast bar, his hands clutched together nervously, staring at his fists as a woman busied herself around the room. Effie stood in the doorway, watching as she frantically opened and closed cupboards. “Are you fucking telling me we’ve got no wine in? You couldn’t even get your mother something to drink before she came home? And where’s all the food? Let me guess, you’ve been living off of takeaways.”  
“Look, I haven’t been food shopping yet. I’m sorry. I’ll go when I pick Jamie up later, okay?” He was irritated, and anxious. Effie could tell just by his voice.  
“Who the fuck is that?” She’d been so busy staring at Damon that she hadn’t noticed his mother spot her. “She a new one? That’s more like it. Pretty in a grungy sort of way. Better tits than that Myranda one too.” The woman snorted.  
“Oh, mum this is…”  
“Elizabeth. It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms Beesbury.” Effie cut in before Damon could give away her actual name.  
“Manners. That’s more fucking like it. Nice to meet you too, Elizabeth. You been keeping my criminal company?” Damon’s mother offered her a smile as fake as her breasts.  
“Actually, Eff…Elizabeth just needed a place to crash for a while. Myranda and I are still together.” Effie stared at Damon, feeling increasingly guilty. _You don’t know. She doesn’t deserve you._  
“Oh goodie.” His mother sighed. “Don’t worry about getting any food in. I’m going out with the girls tonight.” Damon just nodded, but she was paying him no attention. “Come sit down Elizabeth. I should probably learn a bit more about you seeing as you’re living in my house.” Effie obeyed wordlessly, taking a seat next to Damon. He didn’t even look at her.  
_I don’t deserve you either. I don’t deserve anyone._  
“So, why are you here and not at home?” Ms Beesbury asked.  
“I’ve just been having some issues with my parents, that’s all. Mind if I smoke?” She asked flatly.  
“By all means.” Smiling her thanks, Effie lit up. “What kind of issues?”  
“Mum she doesn’t need to…”  
“Same old thing. My mum shagged dad’s boss and he acted like a complete dildo as usual. She’s a selfish cow, so I came here. To get away from it all.” Effie lied seamlessly. She was good at that now.  
“And how do you know Damon?”  
“We met at school.” Elizabeth said, not looking at him.  
“Hm. He’s never mentioned you.” Ms Beesbury shrugged.  
“I’m not really worth mentioning.” Elizabeth admitted, smiling shyly. Damon’s mother looked her up and down. “I beg to differ.” She said, with a smile that filled her eyes. “Do you recognise me at all?” Ms Beesbury asked.  
“I’m sorry but I don’t. Should I?” Elizabeth enquired politely.  
“No, no. It’s just that I’m a writer, that’s all.”  
“Mum, we don’t…”  
“Really? What do you write?” She asked, cutting off Damon. In her peripheral vision, she could see him look at her pleadingly, but she ignored him.  
“Ever heard of the Good Girl Gone Bad series?”  
“Porn! She writes porn, okay?” Damon snapped, standing up and storming from the room. Effie watched him go, suddenly annoyed with herself. She knew exactly what it was like to have parents you were embarrassed to admit you had.  
“My darling criminal of a son clearly does not approve of my career choice, but it paid for his skunk and whores while he lived under this roof, so he can’t complain. They’re actually more romance and erotica novels. Porn is such a vulgar word. Something for the whores.”  
Effie forced a smile. “Couldn’t agree more.” Elizabeth said.

She could feel her eyes burning into her back. It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. As Myranda stirred the pasta, she tried to think about ways to tell Damon. Not that she wanted to, and she wouldn’t were she not certain Effie’s threat was not an idle one. She was of half a mind to throw the pot over her, burning water and all.   
“So why did you have detention Jamie?” Myranda heard Damon ask. She couldn’t be bothered to turn though. Firstly, because she didn’t particularly give three shits about Damon’s little brother, and secondly because she couldn’t stand to see Effie’s accusatory stare.   
“I called my teacher fat.” Jamie admitted. Even Myranda had to suppress a chuckle. “And why did you do that?” Damon asked, though Myranda could sense he was holding back laughter. At least he could laugh at something. He’d been a miserable fuck all day.  
“Because she is!” Jamie whined.  
“You shouldn’t have done that Jamie.” Trust _her_ to fucking butt in. Effie was always sucking up to Jamie, just because she knew how much Damon cared about him. “The truth hurts. You should have kept quiet. Otherwise truth…boom.”  
Myranda tried to stay calm, but she had just picked up her glass of wine, and Effie’s words had made her fingers stiffen in shock and fear. Before she could stop it, the glass slipped from her fingers and smashed on the floor. “Fuck.” Myranda hissed.  
“You okay babe?” Damon enquired. Forcing herself to turn, Myranda found herself captured by Effie’s murderous gaze. “I’m fine…just…stop it.” She hissed at Effie.  
“You stop it.” Effie spat back.  
“What the fuck are you two on about?” Damon growled.  
“Nothing.” They said in unison, still glaring at one another. Breaking her gaze, Myranda shakily went and fetched the dustpan and brush to clean up the mess. There was no way in hell she could keep this up, she knew.  
_Fine_ Myranda thought. _Fucking fine. Have it your way slut. But I’ll get you back one day, and you’ll regret fucking up my life when I do the same to yours._  
Myranda smiled to herself at that vow, and began to hum contentedly as she swept up the broken pieces and threw them in the bin.

On Friday, Effie was somewhat shocked when her new mobile rang, and it was Skinner’s voice on the other line. “How did you get my number?” She asked without so much as a hello.  
“I asked Damon to give it to me a second ago. Why shouldn’t I have your number?” It was then that it clicked that Myranda hadn’t even told Skinner that they’d been caught. It made Effie feel sick. She could understand why she was taking her dear sweet time confessing to Damon, because if Effie was in her shoes she wouldn’t want to lose him either.  
“What do you want?” Effie’s voice was flat and toneless.  
“Just a long time no see is all. Where’ve you been?” Effie hated the beating-around-the-bush approach he was taking. She knew what he wanted.  
“Busy.”  
“Busy doing what?”  
“Nothing. Just…life. So what do you want?” She asked again, her tone neither approachable nor irritable.  
“Just wanted to see if you were around tonight is all. I’m having another get together at mine.” Effie pursed her lips, recalling what had happened the last time she’d gone to one of Skinner’s get togethers.  
“Maybe.” Was all she could think to answer with.  
“Maybe?” She could hear irritation in Skinner’s voice, but she didn’t care enough to let it irk her.  
“Yeah. Maybe.”  
“Well just let me know when you’ve made up your fucking mind.” He snapped before hanging up. Throwing her phone onto the bed, Effie headed downstairs to the kitchen where Damon was cooking and Jamie was doing his homework. “Alright?” Damon asked, barely glancing at her. Remaining silent, Effie sat down at the table opposite Jamie. “Skinner’s having another get together tonight.” She told Damon.  
“I know, Myranda told me.” Damon replied, still not looking up from his cooking. Exchanging sickened glances with Jamie, Effie wondered why Skinner had thought it a good idea to invite Myranda.  
“I don’t think I’m going to go.” Effie admitted miserably. Just the thought of Skinner was enough to make her want to vomit.   
“No, you should go.” That surprised her.  
“But…the last time…”  
“The last time we ended up falling asleep in the same bed, and it was pretty fucking tough explaining that one to Myranda.” Still Damon didn’t even seem to care enough to spare her a glance.  
“You told her?” Effie enquired, once again surprised.  
“Of course. I’m marrying her aren’t I? Why shouldn’t we be truthful with one another?”  
_Because truth…boom._  
Standing up, Effie tried her best to hold back tears that frightened her. She couldn’t remember exactly when she had begun to care this much. “Fine. I’ll go to Skinner’s fucking party if that’s what you want.” She snapped, storming from the room before the tears could begin to fall.

Watching her go, he felt nothing but regret and guilt. He had been too cold and uncaring. He didn’t really want her to go.  
“Why are you being such a wanker to her?” Damon had almost forgotten Jamie was in the room. “Why can’t you be marrying her instead of Myranda? At least Effie is nice.”   
“Get on with your homework.” Damon growled, continuing to cook their dinner. Jamie obeyed sullenly, but continued talking as he wrote. “Don’t you like her?” His little brother asked. “She’s prettier than Myranda, and nicer. And she’s really good at guitar hero.”  
“I…it’s complicated, okay? I’m marrying Myranda. End of story.” Damon hissed, annoyed at how his brother seemed to be voicing the exact same things that had been going around in his mind since the night they had spent inside the duvet cover together.  
“Why is it complicated?”   
“Because I love Myranda.” Damon snapped, stirring too sharply and splashing himself with the boiling hot sauce.  
“I thought love was for pussies.” He turned then, recalling the conversation they had had that time at the pier. He hadn’t expected Jamie to remember.   
“Yeah well, you grow up, okay? You grow into it.” Damon shrugged.  
“Myranda doesn’t love you.” Throwing down the spoon, Damon strode over to the table and slammed his fist down on it so hard he made Jamie shrink away in fear.   
“Take that back!” He roared.  
“She doesn’t! Effie says if you love someone you should never hurt them! And Myranda does hurt you. I’ve seen it and I’ve heard it and it’s not right! It’s just like what dad did to mum!” Jamie wailed, his face turning red and his eyes filling with tears. At the sight of his brother’s distress, Damon’s anger was swiftly replaced by fear and concern. Moving towards Jamie, he threw his arms around him and hugged him tight. As his brother began to cry onto his shoulder, Damon found himself trying to hold back sobs. He was scared; scared of making the wrong decisions, scared that it was all too late, scared of his feelings and of the emotions he’d hidden for so long. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.  
“It’s alright mate.” He sniffed. “I’ll sort it, okay? I just…I really _do_ fucking love her.” For perhaps the first time since Effie had arrived, Damon was sure he knew which girl he was talking about this time.


	69. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now all your love is wasted,  
> Then who the hell was I?

Much to her dismay, Effie and Myranda met at the bottom of the stairs to Skinner’s at the same time. “Fancy seeing you here.” Effie said curtly.  
“I was invited.” Myranda shot back, matching her stride for stride.  
“That’s odd. I would have thought Skinner had better sense than that. Oh wait, right, you haven’t told him either.” Effie muttered bitterly.  
“It’s only Skinner. He doesn’t matter.” Myranda shrugged.  
“Well at least we can agree on something.” Effie picked up speed, taking the stairs two at a time. Myranda tried to keep up, but Effie could hear her laboured breathing. “So why are you here then?” Myranda snapped between breaths. Effie just shrugged. Damon might want to be honest with her, but she wasn’t about to confess to Myranda that Damon didn’t want her with him.  
They made the rest of the journey in sullen silence, apart from Myranda’s panting. It seemed like an eternity before they finally reached Skinner’s flat. When he opened the door, his eyes went straight to Effie. “Alright girls?” Myranda pushed past him and Effie went to follow, only to be pulled back and pushed up against the wall. “Missed you babe. You staying around tonight?” He grinned. Before she could answer, and thankfully before he could kiss her, Dick yelled for more beer. “Alright, alright!” Skinner called back, abandoning Effie and heading into the kitchen. Continuing along the corridor into the lounge, Effie saw that the only vacant chair was the one reserved for Skinner. Throwing herself down into it, Effie lit a cigarette to calm herself. It was going to be a long night.

When the doorbell rang half an hour later, Effie was still sat in the same chair, chain smoking. Skinner was sat on the arm of the chair, leaning over her, stroking her hair. At the sound of the doorbell, he stood up to go and answer it. Effie hardly noticed when Dick shuffled over to her. “Alright?” He asked. Staring at him for a second, Effie continued smoking.                                                                                                                                          
“Full moon tonight, not that you can see it through the smog around here.” Again, Effie spared him a glance before taking a swig of vodka, straight from the bottle. Ignoring her clear distaste, Dick perched on the arm of the chair. “When the full moon rises, gods and monsters come out to play.” He said with a dramatic flourish. Effie wondered how drunk he was, then forced herself to laugh. He laughed with her until she stopped suddenly and regarded him with clear disdain.  
“So how does it feel? To have everyone want you? Skinner’s chuffed as a cheesecake to get into your pants. Damon’s keen too I’ll bet, despite Myranda.” Checking no one was looking, Dick placed a hand gently on her knee and leaned in so close she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Suppressing a shudder, Effie recalled all the times they’d fucked before. None of them had been pleasant.  
“What about me, huh? You gonna let me into your pants?” He enquired, grinning grotesquely. Turning to look at him, Effie fixed him with a meaningful glare. Instantly the grin was gone, as was his hand on her knee. “More like your brother than you used to be.” He spat at her.  
“Like you said, when there’s a full moon, monsters come out to play.” Effie snarled back, returning back to her alcohol and cigarettes. Taking the message, Dick returned to his spot next to Luton.  
Effie almost spat the vodka back up when she spotted Damon following Skinner into the room. “Hey guys.” Damon said flatly, nodding towards where Dick, Alyn, and Luton were sat. His eyes fell on Effie, and were filled with the apology he was about to give before Myranda butted in. “Babe, what are you doing here? What about your tag?” She asked, somewhat irritated. Probably worried about having Damon and Skinner in the same room together.  
“I just…” He trailed off, clearly wanting to say something he wasn’t brave enough to say in front of everyone. Effie’s skin turned to goose pimples as he continued to look at her longingly. “I just couldn’t stand being stuck with my mum any longer.” He chuckled, looking away. Effie took another drink, though it tasted more like disappointment than vodka. As Skinner sat back down on the arm of the chair, toying with her hair and leaning over her possessively, Effie closed her eyes. Just his closeness made her skin crawl.  
“Heard she was back. That sucks.” Luton grunted.  
“Yeah, saw her in town the other day. Her skirt was so short I could’ve sworn I saw her bum-hole wink.” Skinner chuckled.  
“Shut up about her, you don’t speak about my mum alright?” Damon snapped, charging halfway across the living room before stopping. Instead of glaring at Skinner, he stared at Effie and quickly calmed down.   
“Alright, don’t get your knickers in a twist.” Skinner snorted. “Someone throw the man a drink.” Catching a can of beer, Damon turned away and sat down, grimacing and squirming uncomfortably as Myranda settled herself on his lap. An awkward silence fell over the group then, and Effie observed the tension that had filled the room. Glancing across at Myranda, she saw the girl staring back; her eyes wide and slightly panicked. Effie just shrugged, as confused as she was.  
“That spliff ready yet Dickie boy?” Skinner asked, filling the silence.  
“Sure thing.”   
“Light it up then slugger. Think we all need to relax a bit.” Dick obeyed; lighting up the spliff and taking the first few tokes. When it reached Effie, she refused to take it. “C’mon Eff.” Skinner urged. “Don’t be a pussy.” Glancing at Damon, their eyes met. And his gaze was pleading. “Thought that was all you wanted from me?” Effie said to Skinner quietly.  
“Fine.” He said curtly. Standing, he headed over to Myranda and handed it to her. “Your turn ‘Randa.” Myranda took it, avoiding his gaze. When Skinner turned back to Effie, she could see he was angry.  
“Right. After all this excitement, I fancy a spunk. You coming Eff? You soon will be.” Skinner joked, grinning from ear to ear. Some of the others laughed with him until they realised Effie hadn't so much as cracked a smile. She could sense Damon watching her closely, wondering and worrying why she looked so sullen. They all waited for her answer, an awkward silence as she met Skinner's gaze. "I'd sooner fuck Alyn." She told him flatly. Everyone glanced nervously from Skinner to Effie.   
"I know that's not meant as a compliment but I'm going to take it as one anyway." Alyn chuckled quietly, attempting to lighten the mood. It didn't work.   
"I don't think you got me." Skinner said, his tone holding a warning that made everyone sit up a little straighter. Effie perched on the end of the seat, leaning forward.  
"I got it. The guys got it. That spider in the corner got it. But you're not going to get it, got it?" All eyes widened with shock at her brazenness. Effie wasn't the quiet sort, but no one knew what had evoked this sudden coldness.   
"Okay now I'm confused." Skinner admitted, frowning. They watched Effie in horror and wonder as she stood up and walked straight over to him. "I'm not going anywhere near your skanky dick." Pausing, Effie glanced over at Myranda, then back to Skinner. "I know where it's been." She added bitterly, tilting her head meaningfully. Gasping, Myranda stiffened in Damon’s lap, and he didn't fail to notice the nervous exchange between Skinner and his fiancé. "What's she talking about Skinner?" Damon practically growled.   
"Well fuck off then!" Skinner roared at Effie, his face suddenly only inches from hers. Effie didn't so much as flinch. “If you’re not going to shag us then get to fuck. It’s all we want you for anyways.” He spat at her.  
“Really? Because it seems to me you found no difficulty getting it from somewhere else.” Effie hissed back. She wasn’t quick enough to miss his strike this time. His backhand caught her cheek, and the vodka sent her staggering back, though she managed not to fall. Before Effie could strike back, Damon got in the way, and smashed his fist into Skinner’s face. “Hit her again and I’ll fucking end you.” Effie heard him snarl, his voice dangerously quiet.  
“Oh really? So you can end up in prison again? We all know how much you loved it there.” Skinner laughed, spitting out a tooth. Damon dealt another blow, and all the guys leapt into action as Skinner summoned his strength and hit back. “Easy there lads, easy.” Luton bellowed.  
“Yeah, fuck off back to prison. I’ll take them both.” Skinner called, making Damon fight against Luton’s hold.  
“You fucking what?” He roared.  
“Yep. Did Effie, and ‘Randa, good and proper. Seems you need to try and keep your women on a shorter leash.”  
“Shut up!” Myranda screamed at Skinner, her cheeks stained from tears, her eyes wide and fearful.  
“You fucking…you fucked him?” Damon asked her, fighting a little less, his eyes filled with hurt.  
“I…yes, but…but it didn’t mean…I love you Damon. I really fucking love you.” She sobbed.  
“Yeah? Is that what you were thinking while you were in his bed?” Damon asked her through gritted teeth.  
“To be fair, we didn’t do it in the bed. Just the kitchen table. Oh, and that chair you were sitting on.” Once again, Skinner’s words provoked Damon into lunging for him again. Effie observed motionlessly.  
“I only did it because…well you were fucking gawking at that slut all the time. Fucking her with your eyes!” Myranda screeched, suddenly angry.  
“Who wouldn’t? Her tits are mint.” Skinner butted in. That was enough to spur enough anger in Damon. Tearing out of Luton’s grasp, he flung himself at Skinner, knocking the other men aside. “Don’t fucking speak about her like that! You fucking bastard! Fucking. Racist. Bastard.” Damon spat with every punch. His strikes were hard, but Skinner was faster and stronger. Lifting him off of him, he slammed Damon down onto the floor so hard the wind was knocked from his lungs. “Pick your fights better Damon, or you won’t live to see prison.” He grinned as he wrapped a hand around Damon’s throat.  
“Stop! Stop it, you’re killing him!” Myranda screamed. Effie said nothing, just walked over and brought her heal up into Skinner’s neck hard enough to knock him off. “What the…” It was all he could say before Effie’s blow knocked him out cold. They all stared at her; eyes widened in shock. “Didn’t they teach you the weak spots in the army?” She asked the unconscious Skinner. “I’ll leave you lot to clear that mess up.” Effie spat at the three guys. Myranda knelt down beside Damon, grabbing his face to check the damage. “Get the fuck off me.” He hissed at her, shoving her off.   
“Damon, please…”   
“No, I’m not living off my fucking knees anymore, so fuck off you…you whore.” He stormed from the room before anyone could see the tears Effie knew were going to fall. They all stared at the door, and Effie stood, frozen and unsure what to do.   
“Go after him.” To her surprise, it was Myranda’s voice. “Just…fucking go, okay?” She snapped before bursting into hysterical tears. Needing no more persuasion, Effie ran from the room. Damon had just reached the top of the stairs, and didn’t stop when she called out his name. “Damon, stop!” She called again, running after him. He didn’t, continuing to hurry on ahead of her. She didn’t catch up until they were at the foot of the stairwell. Effie grabbed his arm, but he tore away.  
“They all think…why does everybody get to fucking piss on me?” He sobbed. “Everyone’s just out for them-fucking-selves. No one gives a shit, do they? My mum, my dad, Myranda…what’s the fucking difference? Nothing good ever stays with me. Absolutely nothing.” Damon roughly wiped his tears away with his sleeve.  
“You’ve got me.” Effie said quietly. Finally, he looked at her. She could think of nothing else to say, and so stepped forward and kissed him; tentatively at first, then harder, clinging to his lips like her life depended on it.  
“Don’t.” Damon growled, shoving her away. “I don’t need your fucking pity.” He spat, before turning and walking away.


	70. Actress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is blue  
> His pills, his hands, his jeans  
> And now I'm covered in the colors  
> Pulled apart at the seams

When Damon woke up, he lay still for a long while; crippled by the prospect of his empty, pathetic life. Listening for any sound of movement, he found the house to be as dull as his existence. Eventually, he did hear rock music that could only come from Jamie and Effie playing Guitar Hero. Dressing slowly into a grubby polo shirt and sweatpants, Damon made his way down the stairs, in no hurry to get anywhere. A part of him didn’t want to go into the lounge where Effie was, but he’d rather that then go into the kitchen where his mother was. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had done anything wrong. Effie had tried to kiss him, out of pity. And he couldn’t stand that. He’d done the right thing in pushing her away.  
_Then why do I feel so shit?  
_ His concerns only expanded when he saw Jamie sat playing Guitar Hero by himself. “Where’s Effie?” Damon asked, looking around the room in the vain hope of seeing her.  
“Dunno.” Jamie shrugged, not looking away from the screen. “Haven’t seen her this morning.” Leaving him to his gaming, Damon headed for the kitchen, his worries banishing his disdain for his mother momentarily.  
“Ah, there you are Damie. I want you to meet someone.” She nodded towards a strange man sat in just his boxers at the breakfast table. “Damie, this is Ronnie. My new guinea pig.” Damon curled his lip, knowing full well what that meant.  
“Have you seen Effie?” He asked quickly, not even bothering to acknowledge the guinea pig.  
“Who?”  
“Elizabeth, I mean. Have you seen Elizabeth?” Damon gabbled, suddenly remembering the name Effie hid behind.   
“Not this morning, no. Why?” Before he bothered to answer, Damon sprinted upstairs. He hadn’t thought to wait for her last night. He’d been too angry. He hadn’t even made sure she got back alright. Had she come home at all? Anything could have happened to her on the estate.  
A sudden flashback to Effie knocking Skinner unconscious came to mind then. She’d floored him with a single blow. Perhaps he should worry more about the damage she had done to others than about anyone harming her. She was stronger than she looked. The whining of sirens close by reaffirmed his fears and he ran back downstairs. Flinging the front door open, he saw two policemen climbing out of the police car. “Where is she?” Damon blurted.  
“Damon Beesbury?” One of them asked, in that tone that Damon knew meant he was in trouble.  
“Yes?”  
“We are arresting you for breaking the terms of your probation period.”  
_Fuck._ He’d forgotten about that. At the time, the tag had seemed unimportant. The only thing that mattered was telling Effie how he felt, and now he’d fucked that up too. Damon slumped, and allowed them to put the handcuffs on without trouble.  
“Damon, what’s happening?” He turned to see Jamie at the front door, his eyes wide with fear.  
“Jamie you got to go inside now, okay?” Damon said, not wanting his little brother to see him being taken away.  
“No!” Jamie yelled, running out and grabbing hold of one of the officers arms, only to be pushed off gently.  
“Don’t fucking touch him.” Damon growled.  
“Tell them to piss of! Tell them you didn’t do nothing!” Jamie pleaded, close to tears. Closing his eyes, Damon allowed the other police officer to guide him towards the car as his brother was held back, wailing and pleading for him to come back. He refused to allow himself to cry, not with Jamie there.  
“Wait!” Damon’s heart skipped a beat when he saw Effie crossing the lawn, her eyes brimming with tears, her face pale and haunted. “Wait, he has a reason, please. It was my fault.” The officer ceased dragging him away as Effie began to cry. Somehow, her grief and fear seemed beautiful, in a fragile way. “I was walking home and I got lost, I’m not from around here. I was on the estate and it was getting dark. I was scared, so I called Damon. He arrived just in time. There were these boys, a group of them…they tried to…tried to…” Effie broke down into pretty sobs, and Damon hid a smile, focusing instead on Jamie who had now freed himself of the officer and was running to him. Once he reached Damon, he threw his arms around his waist and clung on tight. “He saved me, please…please don’t take him away because of me…” As Effie batted her eyelashes, the steely expressions on the faces of the policemen seemed to melt away. Effie proceeded to burst into fresh sobs, and the officers glanced guiltily at one another, then looked to Damon.   
“Perhaps we’ll let this incident pass, but this will be your only chance. Next time, Mr Beesbury…” He left the threat unsaid; hanging over Damon like a storm cloud. Damon nodded in understanding, bowing his head so they couldn’t see the smirk that was brewing. As the policemen headed back to their car, Damon kept up the act; placing an arm around Effie’s shoulders and guiding her inside. The moment the door was shut, Effie wiped away her tears. Damon was somewhat surprised when she broke into a radiant smile. He’d thought she’d be angry with him for what he did.  
“Well that was fun.” She laughed.  
“You were acting?” Jamie gasped, his eyes growing wide with disbelief.   
“Yep.” She grinned at him. “Pretty convincing wasn’t I?”  
“Yeah! How did you do that? Can you teach me?” Jamie was practically bouncing.  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Damon cut in. “Can’t have you running around being able to talk your way out of murder now can we?” He chuckled.  
“Fine.” Jamie pouted. “Can we play Guitar Hero now? Like, altogether?”   
“Sure thing.” Damon promised. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. Still beaming, Jamie sprinted from the room, leaving Damon alone with Effie.  
“How did you do it?” He asked quietly. The more he thought back on it, the stranger it seemed. It took guts to lie to the police, and it required practise to be convincing enough to actually get away with it.  
A smile tugged at the corners of Effie’s mouth, and it took her a moment to think of an answer. “Roose Bolton had me lying to the world for years. People don’t see much past a pretty face.” Damon could understand that. He sure hadn’t seen past hers until it was almost too late.   
“Well you’d be useful to have around on a night out, that’s for sure.” Damon grinned before running a hand nervously through his fair hair. “Thanks anyway, you know, for helping me out.” He muttered, not meeting her gaze; suddenly feeling guilty about what had happened last night.  
Effie just shrugged. “I’d be dead if it wasn’t for you.” Was all she replied with before following Jamie into the lounge.

At around noon, the sound of his mother trying out her new ‘guinea pig’ began, and no matter how loud they turned the TV up to there was no drowning it out. “Fuck it.” Damon growled, casting aside his controls and standing up. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”   
“Where to?” Effie asked, also standing up.  
“Anywhere.” He spat. She tried not to feel pity for him, knowing that that was the last thing he wanted. But she couldn’t stop herself from feeling sad for him. Effie knew that she should be angry with him. He’d rejected her, humiliated her. Yet deep down she knew it was for the best. She didn’t deserve him, didn’t deserve to be loved by him. And now she was truly dangerous. Effie feared what might have happened to Damon had things gone further last night.  
Grabbing their coats, Damon led the way outside and unlocked the car. “Isn’t this your mum’s?” Effie asked, unable to hide her smirk of amusement.  
“Yeah but she won’t miss it. Believe me.” He replied, his lip curled in revulsion. Effie felt it best to say nothing more, and so jumped into the passenger seat beside him. They both flinched away and muttered apologies when their hands accidentally brushed against one another, and Effie pushed away the urge to grab his hand back. They couldn’t. She had to forget about him. Desperate to drown out her thoughts, Effie turned on the radio and put the music on full blast before lighting a fag, laughing as both Damon and Jamie began to rock out. She liked to imagine that Damon had looked a lot like Jamie when he was his age, but the lack of photos around the house made it hard to tell for sure.  
Damon drove them through town and to the beach. It was a nice enough day, with a light breeze that prevented it from getting uncomfortably warm. After buying fish and chips, they sat amongst the sand dunes; away from the crowd of families and holiday makers. When they were done eating, Jamie insisted they play a game, and Effie suggested hide and seek though it ended up as more of some sort of war game. Each of them were on opposing sides and they had to crawl through the dunes to try and escape one another. If they were caught, they were kept as a prisoner of war.   
Effie was pretty good at staying hidden, that was until Damon sprung out from the dunes, knocking her over and sending them both tumbling down the hill in a mess of limbs. Out of instinct, Effie fought back though it was more animalistic than with her usual skill. Still, when they finally reached the bottom of the hill, Damon was on top of her and had pinned her arms down; their faces only mere inches apart.  
“Caught you.” He grinned. It was that goofy grin that he’d sported when he was younger. She hadn’t seen it much recently, but it warmed her to see it again. Effie’s heart fluttered when she realised how close they were, and how Damon wasn’t moving. He remained on top of her, and Effie froze when he released her arm and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his gaze moving from her eyes to her lips and back again. This wasn’t what he wanted, she’d been sure of it after last night. It hadn’t surprised her. Time and time again she had made wrong assumptions about Damon’s feelings towards her. But this…it confused her. It terrified her; because now she realised it was real.  
“Hey! Look what I found!” Damon’s head snapped up, and Effie sighed when he got off of her; though whether it was from relief or annoyance, she couldn’t say. When he held a hand out, Effie took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. They walked side by side to where Jamie’s voice had come from, not looking or talking to one another. Perhaps he was as shocked by his actions as she was. Or perhaps he’d thought nothing of them, and he was just being friendly, and she was allowing her mind to conjure up beautiful, cruel fantasies once again.  
Jamie was sat cross legged in the sand, fiddling with what looked like some sticks and a faded scrap of fabric. “I found a kite.” He told them, scarcely glancing up as he tried to piece it together. “It’s broken though.” He confessed, casting it aside. Effie picked it up again. “That’s the beauty of something that’s broken.” She smiled, first at Jamie, then at Damon. “It can be fixed.”


	71. Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And as the sun died  
> I promised that I'd seek you out  
> Well now the years have weathered me  
> And soon I'll claim you for my arms again

The next two weeks passed by much the same after that. Damon dropped Jamie off at school, then he and Effie would wander the streets in search for work until it was time to pick Jamie up again, and they spent as little time in the house as possible. At the weekends they would go out together; to the beach or the town. Sometimes Effie paid for them to go to the cinema if Damon would allow her to, though he hated letting her pay for things.  
As for things between him and Effie, Damon didn’t know where they stood. Sometimes there would just be a moment. Their eyes would meet. Neither would look away for a time. Then one of them would chance a smile, and they’d both look away; signalling that the moment had passed. It was in those moments that Damon most regretted pushing her off that night, though the memory of it haunted him and he was reminded of it every time Effie looked away. He tried to get her attention, to tell her that he regretted it and that he wanted to make things right. But every time he tried, she’d find some excuse. Even if he so much as brushed her hand, to let her know how he felt, she’d flinch away and pretend it never happened. Damon was too afraid to speak about it after the first few tries, afraid of the rejection. It seemed impossible to tell how Effie felt. She had been the one to kiss him, and now she was avoiding him as best she could and didn’t seem interested at all.   
One morning though, he woke up early with the truth staring him in the face. He was being a pussy; running from something that would make him happy, when the worst that could happen would be for her to say no. Clambering out of bed, he hurriedly dressed before he could change his mind and lose his resolve. When he saw that Effie’s door was ajar, and glimpsed movement beyond, he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not. He’d imagined having to wake her up gently, then telling her, then he’d kiss her first this time and she’d kiss him back…  
_Fucking hell, I’m like a fourteen year old girl.  
_ “I’ll go back soon, I promise.” Damon stopped just outside the door when he heard her voice, and could see Effie was on the phone and looking flustered. “No, don’t. I’ll get it done, you know I will! I said I’ll. Get. It. Done. Okay? I’ve just got…there’s some stuff I need to get sorted first. Then I’ll go back…fine…no, I’ll call you...speak to you soon.” Damon didn’t allow himself to hesitate any further.  
“Who was that?” He asked. Effie whirled around as if she had just been caught committing a crime. “Oh…erm…it was just Ramsay.” She stammered, throwing the phone onto the bed angrily.  
“Really?” That seemed strange to him. Ramsay was the last person he expected her to be calling.  
“Yeah, well, he just wanted to check up on me. He is my brother after all.”   
“Right.” Damon just nodded, continuing to hover in the doorway. “So you leaving then?”  
“Said I would, didn’t I?” Effie’s chuckle died quickly.  
“When?”  
“I think there’s some stuff I need to sort out here first.” Damon wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that stuff was yet. “Did you…need me for something?” Effie probed, crossing her arms. His mind was a mess; words all scrambled in his brain. He was aware of his mouth opening and closing as he searched for a sentence that made sense.   
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Was the best he could do. And then there was another moment; where there eyes met and neither looked away for a time. He wanted to tell her everything, but his courage had fled him, as he feared it would.   
Then Effie looked away.  
“Well I’ll see you at breakfast.” He said, backing away and closing the door before she could reply. With his head bowed, and his shoulders slumped, Damon retreated to his room.  
_Pussy._  
“Fuck off.”

After dropping Jamie off, they decided against trawling the streets. His mother and her guinea pig had been oddly quiet that morning, and the eerie silence continued by the time they got back. That was until around noon, when his mother suddenly began shrieking like a banshee. “Get the fuck out of my house you disgusting asshole!” They heard her yell. Immediately, Damon leapt to his feet and ran out of the lounge and into the hallway, catching the bloke before he could leg it out the door. “What the fuck did you do?” He roared, grabbing the man and slamming him up against the wall. “What the fuck did you do to my mum you fucking cunt?” He repeated.  
“Get the fuck off me you little punk!” The man spat.  
“Punk? Fucking hell.” Damon laughed, slamming him back against the wall again. “I’m a fucking delinquent mate, that’s what I am.” Damon hissed, his face only inches from his. Before he could raise his fist, he felt Effie’s hand tighten around his arm. “Let him go Damon. He’s not worth it and you know it.” Taking a few deep breaths, he stepped back and kept his focus on Effie’s hand, which remained on his arm. Placing his own over it, he held on to her tight; silently begging her not to let go. “Fuck off then, before I smash you.” Damon growled at the man, whose face paled before he ran out the front door. Staring at the open door, Damon absent-mindedly threaded his fingers through hers before turning to look at her. Feeling a little braver, he summoned up the courage to say what had been on his mind all that morning. “Eff, this morning when I went into your room…there was something I needed to say. I just needed to tell you that…”  
“Has he gone?” Effie leapt away at the sound of his mother’s voice, and they both watched her as she stormed down the stairs.  
“Yes.” Damon grunted, annoyed that he had been interrupted once again.  
“Good. Lousy fucker. Christ, I’m fucking starving. Any food going?” His mother asked, wandering into the kitchen.  
“Sure, I’ll make you something.” Effie pulled her hand out from beneath his, and avoided his gaze as she followed his mother into the kitchen. His opportunity had passed again, and Damon feared he wouldn’t get another.  
“I’ll pick Jamie up from school today.” His mum told him once he joined them in the kitchen. “So you two will have the house to yourselves for a while.” Damon felt the blood rushing to his cheeks when his mother winked at him, and shifted uncomfortably as Effie glanced over her shoulder at him.

It reached seven o’clock, and still his mum hadn’t returned with Jamie. Damon should have made the most of being alone with Effie, but as the minutes ticked by he grew more and more anxious as to where his brother had got to.  
“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Effie insisted, watching him as he paced from where she was sat on the sofa. Before he could answer, Damon heard a banging sound coming from the front door, and ran to try and find the source. Upon opening the door, he managed to catch his mother just in time before she landed face first. “Ah! There you are, you sweet little turd.” She slurred, standing and staggering further into the house.  
“Mum, where’s James?” He asked, hurrying after her.   
“Oh…he’s out with his friend…that friend…oh fuck it. Anyone thirsty? I bought wine.” She announced, holding up the half-empty bottle.  
“What about Jamie?” Damon yelled.  
“He’ll be home soon.” She shrugged drunkenly. Cussing under his breath, Damon picked up the car keys and had just reached the front door when Effie blocked his path. “It’s seven o’clock.” She reminded him.  
“I don’t give a fuck.” He snapped, trying to push past her.  
“No, you don’t, but I do.” She snapped back, snatching the keys from his hand and hurrying from the room. However, just as she opened the door to his mother’s car, another police car pulled up. Damon felt a tightening in his chest just at the sight of it, but it loosened slightly with the relief of seeing his brother jump out of the car. Jamie swaggered towards him, swinging his school bag around. His school uniform was torn and dirtied in parts and he wore the biggest grin on his face. “Oi. What did you do?” Damon called out to him.  
“Damon Beesbury, of course.” Unfortunately, Damon recognised the voice and looked at the police officer. It was the same one that had put his tag on and mocked him for it. “I’d like to speak to your mother. Your brother has been causing quite a riot.” He grinned at him. _Must run in the family._  
Damon clenched a fist.  
“She’s in the kitchen. First door on the left.” Damon told him through gritted teeth.  
“Thank you.” The officer gave him another charming smile before heading into the house.  
“So what did you do?” Damon asked again, catching his brother before he could sneak inside. Jamie looked up at him, unable to hide his grin. “George and I drank six red bull’s each, then we snuck out of school. We jumped in the fountain, started a fire at the park, stole bras from Debenhams, and we had a water fight in the town centre!” He gurgled, still high off of sugar and energy.  
“What the fuck did you do that for?” Damon asked, only partly amused.  
“Because I’m not a pussy.” Jamie shrugged, continuing to grin madly. They both turned when they heard the police officer’s voice. “I want you to have words with him. If I catch him pulling any stunts like this again…well…” He trailed off, leaving the consequences as a threat hanging over Jamie’s unknowing head.  
“I…I’m gonna, don’t you worry.” Damon heard his mother trying not to slur her words, and failing miserably.  
“Very well, good evening.” Effie had joined them by the time the Officer appeared from the kitchen. “If I hear about you causing trouble again young man,” He waggled a finger at Jamie as he passed them. “Just ask your brother what happens when you misbehave.” He grinned, winking at Damon, who was gripping on tight to Jamie’s shoulders in order to prevent himself from throwing punches. They all glared at him as he headed back to his car and drove away, and continued to stare at the empty driveway until there came a screeching sound, followed by the smashing of glass. Upon peering into the lounge, they saw his mother smashing the TV up with the guitar used for Guitar Hero.  
“Mum!” Jamie wailed, no longer grinning.  
“Every time…I try to make something…for me…for this fucking family…” His mother screeched, continuing to break the TV and the PlayStation apart.  
“Eff, take Jamie upstairs.” Damon commanded quietly. Effie just nodded and put an arm around Jamie’s shoulders to lead him away. “Mum!” Damon roared, breaking through her angry haze.  
“You!” She hissed back. “Yes, everything’s gone wrong since you’ve come back. Just like your fucking father you are. A fucking pestilence I can’t get rid of.” He faltered then, searching desperately for something to say. But all words had escaped him, and so he turned his back on her and fled. “Yeah, that’s right! Run away! You all bugger off in the end!”

Effie found him outside, smoking on the lawn. Without a word, she walked over and sat down beside him, lighting a fag of her own. It still shocked her whenever she saw Damon crying. He had always had a smile on his face, and there was always a joke to be made. Seeing him with tear-stained cheeks felt wrong somehow, and she couldn’t help but find that sad. He must feel like a joke to the world, and like no one would want him around if he let his guard down.  
“Fuck you up real bad don’t they? Parents, I mean.” Damon sniffed.  
“Yeah. They do.” Effie admitted.  
“You want to hear about the best day of my life? My thirteenth birthday. You see, first thing my dad said to me that morning was that I was a teenager now, and needed to grow the fuck up. Bought me my first shirt that day, proper designer one and all. That meant something, you know? He was a skinhead in the eighties and them shirts mean a lot. So I wore it, all day, felt like a man for the first time in my life. It was a good day really, as birthdays go. Jamie was only one but we went up to the castle. Spent the day there.” He never looked at her. Not once. Just stared at the ground, wincing occasionally as the memory pained him. “Then we went home, had a takeaway. Mum and dad started drinking. I had a bit too, but not as much as them. Then they started arguing, but I can’t remember why. Weird isn’t it? Then dad hit mum, she hit back but he was always stronger. Jamie started to cry. And I remembered what dad had said earlier…about needing to grow the fuck up. So I stood up, and got between them, and told dad to stop hitting her. That it wasn’t right. That’s when dad grabbed me by the hair, and dragged me over to the hob. He turned the gas on, lit it and shit. Then he forced my head down, just until the heat made my forehead begin to sweat. ‘I’ll fucking do it.’ He said. I didn’t doubt him for a second. It was the first time he really threatened to do something like that, though maybe it was because before I’d just hidden on the roof until the fight was over. Anyways, mum bottled him before he could do it, and told me to put Jamie to bed and then to go to sleep myself. So I did. When I woke up, it was like nothing had happened. But I was different. That was the day I knew my dad was a dick, and my mother a selfish bitch.” Damon forced out a choked laugh. “It’s also the day I decided I wouldn’t be like that. I wanted a family, a proper one, you know?”  
“That’s why you were going to marry Myranda?” Effie asked.  
“Pretty much.” He nodded.   
“I won’t ever have a family. Not a real one.” She shrugged. Damon looked at her questioningly. “I can’t have kids. Ramsay had me sterilised.” Effie wasn’t sure she’d ever told anyone that before.  
“I always thought…maybe the pill, or an implant or something…” Damon’s eyes were wide with shock and confusion.  
“Nope. Although at least I won’t have kids that’ll call Ramsay their uncle.” Effie forced herself to laugh. “Or my mother their grandmother. Or my father…” Effie trailed off, tasting sick at the back of her throat.  
“You’re lucky to never know your dad. It’s one less person to fuck you over.” Staying silent for a moment, Effie smiled and watched the smoke drift away on the summer breeze as she exhaled.  
“Actually, I do know him.” He looked at her then, his eyebrows furrowed together questioningly. “Or at least all there is to know. He raped my mother one night, and she never even saw his face.” She found it somewhat amusing that that was all she had to say about him, but she sensed it was enough.  
“I’m sorry.” Damon said, bowing his head miserably. “I must seem like a total…yours is worse than mine.”  
“Just because my problems are horrendous, it doesn’t diminish any of yours.” Effie chuckled. “I understand. Families can be shit. Mine certainly is. My dad’s a rapist, my mother’s hated me since I was born, and my brother…he’s drug raped me and sold me out to anyone that wanted me, including my adopted father.” Effie’s eyes suddenly widened as she realised she had never told him about what Ramsay did. “Shit…I wasn’t supposed to…”  
“It’s okay, you pretty much already told me already.” Damon confessed, keeping her gaze. “When you were…you know…head-fucked, you put up pictures. You said it didn’t make sense, that the lines were blurred…”  
“Because I couldn’t remember.” Effie cut in sharply.  
“What if it was because..”  
“Damon, don’t.” She insisted, with warning in her voice.  
“It’s just…”  
“Look, leave it be, okay? The past is dead and buried, you get nothing from living there. It’s all about today. You know what’s happened. You forget it. You move on. You have yet to know what will happen, but that’s a mystery. So you live for today.” Her words were sharp and full of venom. She didn’t want to remember where she’d been, and for now she didn’t want to know where she was going.  
It appeared Damon didn’t either.  
“Let’s get out of here.” He said, standing up.   
“Where?” Effie asked, taking his hand.  
“Anywhere.” He shrugged, grinning and dragging her along behind him as he ran for freedom.


	72. Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love, love, love.  
> What is it good for?   
> Absolutely nothing.

The club was pretty much dead, but by the time it picked up they were both too drunk to care. Even by half ten, there were only about thirty or so people there. Damon hardly noticed; focused instead on his arms that were wrapped around her waist, and hers that were entwined around his neck. Tilting her head back, she swayed drunkenly with the music. If she noticed him moving closer, she didn’t call him out on it. He was so close, he could smell her. He drank her in, growing drunk on it. So much so, he didn’t hear when someone was calling his name until Effie told him. Reluctantly, Damon turned to see Alyn, Dick, and Luton stood at the bar, watching him closely. When they saw him looking their way, they grinned and raised their glasses. He hoped Effie hadn’t noticed.  
“You should probably go and talk to them.” She slurred, smiling up at him.  
“Suppose you’re right.” He sighed, not wanting to leave her. It was the closest they’d gotten and she hadn’t moved away from him yet, but he didn’t want to seem clingy. “Okay. You coming?” He asked, stepping away, but holding onto her hand.  
“Best not, but I’ll be here.” She smiled warmly, and waited until he let go of her instead of disentangling herself as he’d feared she would. Grinning back, Damon turned away and headed towards the group of men that he felt inclined to call friends. “You two seem…cosy.” Alyn leered, though none of them were looking at him. It was the first time that Damon had noticed, but it seemed like everyone in the bar was watching Effie as she danced by herself. He was almost certain one guy in the back was drooling.  
“Yeah, wouldn’t be away for too long mate. You might lose her.” Luton added.  
“No.” Damon snapped, tired of the laddish leering. “I’m not gonna lose her again.” He insisted, partially to himself. “I’m gonna keep her.” It was decided. His mind was made up. He had spent the day fearing that the time for her to leave was drawing near, when she didn’t have to leave at all. He could make her stay. She didn’t want to go back, so why should she? Jamie liked her, his mother seemed to like the Elizabeth character Effie had fabricated. She could stay.  
“No one’s taking her away from me.” He looked at each of them in turn, to show he meant it.  
“I reckon someone already did.” Dick scoffed, nodding towards something over Damon’s shoulder. Turning, he felt his heart fall to his stomach at the sight of a stranger dancing with Effie. He was behind her, and she didn’t seem to be aware of his presence despite the fact he was practically grinding on her. But that did little to diminish the rage Damon felt.   
Abandoning his so called friends, Damon stormed onto the dance floor. The stranger only caught sight of him for a second before Damon’s fist smashed into his face, sending him crashing to the floor. He leapt up quicker than Damon had been expecting, and the last thing he remembered before the red mist descended was landing hard on the dancefloor, and Effie yelling his name.

The night air was cold, but his face was burning hot from the blood that stained his skin. It was mainly his, much to his shame. Without looking in a mirror, he could sense that he had a split lip. His nose was bleeding too, but he suspected it wasn’t broken.  
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Effie’s voice was soft, and he spat out a glob of blood before turning to look at her.  
“I wasn’t.” He replied flatly, unable to get the image of her dancing with someone else out of his mind. It made him begin to tremble with rage again.  
“I’m sorry.” Effie muttered, her bottom lip beginning to tremble. “I didn’t mean to fuck everything up.” She added miserably.  
“You didn’t. You couldn’t. It was me.” He insisted, wiping away the blood on his lips. “It’s always been me.” Before Effie could say anything else, he grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and kissed her, not sure he was able to explain any better with words. After a moment, Effie began to kiss him back; her hands running through his hair. When he pulled away, Damon found himself fighting for breath. “Now you know, okay?” He panted. Effie too was finding it hard to breathe, but before she could say anything, the sound of sirens pierced their ears and filled the streets.  
“Shit.” Damon muttered, grabbing Effie’s hand and running again, not wanting to wait and find out if they were searching for him.

The house was dark and dead once they reached it, and Effie’s stomach continued to tie itself in knots. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Effie continued to allow Damon to drag her towards it, though he slowed down once they’d reached the driveway. Then they were just walking hand in hand, and the only panic she felt was expressed internally.  
_I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. He’ll know. He’ll find out._  
Yet she wanted to. She couldn’t help how tightly she held his hand, and refused to let go even when they were inside. Damon slowed considerably as they wandered towards the stairs. What were they going to do? Was this what he wanted? _Now you know._ What the fuck did that mean? There was only one thing she could think of to say once they reached the top of the stairs.  
“The night…that night when I kissed you after, you know, what happened at Skinner’s…” Effie chewed her lip nervously, but kept her eyes on his. “It wasn’t pity.” She confessed. Damon just smiled that handsome, goofy smile; that smile that used to make her stomach turn to jelly and her knees go weak. It turned out that it still did.   
When he kissed her again, there was nothing else in her mind except for how much she wanted this. Wrapping her hands around his neck, she pulled him towards her room, though he as much pushed her towards it. She vaguely recalled a time before, when she hungered for him as much as she did now. She had both wanted him and needed him. It was hard to tell now if it was the same or different. She wanted this with every bone in her body, but it was too much to admit that she needed him. However, Effie could sense that Damon was as hungry for this as she was. Once they were in the room, he hoisted her up so that her legs were wrapped around his waist, and clung onto her tight. It was almost painful how much he seemed to need her. Upon reaching the bed, he put her back down and removed her dress before hurrying her out of her underwear. Then Damon stopped, stepped back, and just took her in. There was a part of her, the fourteen year old girl she’d thought was long dead, that almost cried with joy. The look of wonder and happiness in Damon’s eyes; as if he’d never seen anything better than her. As if he never wanted anything else. Effie’s vision blurred and she hurriedly wiped away the tears, but he’d already seen them. The goofy grin gentled a little, and he removed his polo shirt before stepping towards her and kissing her eyelids, then her cheeks and nose, then her lips. He continued his descent; planting kisses wherever he wished to. When he reached the kraken that had been carved into her skin, Effie froze and flinched away, suddenly scared; as though Damon kissing it would send off a signal. But Damon just slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to him. As he kissed at the ruined skin, she ran her hands through his hair.  
It seemed like he had kissed every part of her by the time he stood up again. “I really fucking love you.” He breathed. Effie’s breath caught in her throat, and she felt her heart skip a beat at his words. And suddenly she was crying again, because she’d been waiting to hear those words leave his lips since she was thirteen.  
_And now it’s too late._  
“I love you too.” Effie confessed, her voice breaking as she said the words. They said little else after that, and Effie felt it best that it remained that way.

The sky had begun to lighten outside, though she was unsure whether she’d been waiting for that or if she was just stood there for no good reason. It was cold in the kitchen, but she had abandoned the idea of making coffee an hour ago. Everything around her seemed like a blur except for the view beyond the window. It was all that was left for her now.  
“What are you doing up so early?” Effie span around at the sound of Letitia’s voice. “Thought you’d still be in bed.” She looked rougher than Effie had ever seen her, though she was certain she herself didn’t look all that great.  
“I couldn’t sleep.” Effie admitted. She had spent hours trying; inspecting every inch of Damon’s body whilst he slept soundly, and tracing the tattoo of a cross he had down his side, recalling how much she used to love drawing the pattern with her finger.  
“Know that feeling.” Damon’s mum chuckled, wandering towards the medicine drawer and pulling out the paracetamol. Remaining silent for a moment, Effie watched as she dry swallowed two pills. “You write…like, romance novels and stuff, right?” Effie asked, sitting down at the breakfast bar.  
“Porn, Damie calls it. But yes.” Letitia laughed. Nodding, Effie stared at the counter and fiddled nervously with her fingers. “Do you think it’s possible for someone to love two people at once?” Effie asked, still refusing to look at her.  
“Love? I write erotic novels sweetheart, not about love. But perhaps wanting someone and needing someone else…that’s a whole different ball game. I’ve written about that a lot.” Letitia laughed, and Effie tried not to let her see that it irritated her. “Why? My Damie not enough for you?” She couldn’t stop herself from glaring at her.  
“He’s too much. That’s the problem.” Effie admitted sullenly. “I don’t deserve him.”  
“He seems to think you do.” Letitia argued. “So what are you going to do? Make a run for it? Break his heart?” Effie remained silent, unsure what to say to that. She’d never thought herself capable of breaking anyone’s heart.  
“In all honesty I don’t care what you do. He’s a waste of space, just like his father. I’ll have to kick him out, if the police don’t take him away first.” The woman sighed, turning her back on Effie and getting a bottle of wine out of the cupboard.  
“You’re not his mum. Not really.” Effie sneered at her.  
“And you’re not his girlfriend. Not really. Despite everything, despite the fact he’s the one you want, you’re going to run anyway. You’re going to snap his heart in two.” The woman spat back.  
“And you’ve been doing it to him every day of his life.” Letitia just smiled at that. Opening the bottle of wine, she took a swig before raising it towards Effie. “See you around Elizabeth.” She smirked.  
“Goodbye Mrs Beesbury.” Effie replied flatly, returning to her spot beside the window.


	73. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love someone, so I had to run. You see?  
> Otherwise truth...boom.

When Damon woke up, he lay there for a long while; staring at the streams of sunlight that filtered through the window. The house was quiet. Peaceful. And after a moment, he rolled over to find his bed empty. The serenity of the moment was gone, replaced by sudden panic and fear. Where was Effie? Why wasn’t she with him? The thought that she was gone turned his blood to ice, and Damon bolted from the room, only just able to refrain from crying out her name. He needn’t have worried. She was in the kitchen, dressed in nothing more than one of his shirts; staring out of the window and looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her.   
She didn’t turn around as he approached her, and remained still as his arms slipped around her waist. “Morning beautiful.” He murmured into her hair before kissing her neck. Effie remained frozen and silent. She neither accepted his affection, nor pushed him away. “What’s up?” He asked, afraid of the answer.  
“I called Domeric.” Effie replied, slowly turning but refusing to meet his gaze. Holding his breath, Damon tried desperately to figure out if that meant what he dreaded it did. “So?” He forced himself to ask.  
“I have to go home now.” Her voice remained flat and toneless, but he could see her bottom lip beginning to quiver. Damon began to find it hard to breathe, and he could feel his heart aching in his chest. His hands fell away from her waist, but he couldn’t bring himself to step back yet. He didn’t understand. Why would she ever choose to go home? Hadn’t this been what she wanted? Them together. He knew she’d dreamt of it as a girl, so what had changed? And Damon wanted this too. He wanted her to stay with him. Last night he’d vowed not to let her go, not to lose her again. Not to the Boltons, not to anyone.  
“You don’t have to go. You can stay here, with me. With Jamie. We’ll be together, right? Just like you’ve always wanted.” His tone was pleading.  
“How do you know what I want?” Effie snapped, her quivering lip suddenly stilling.  
“Because I want it too. And last night you told me that you loved me, remember?” Effie simply nodded. “Okay, so look me in the eye and tell me that you don’t love me now.” He tried to make it sound commanding, but his voice still trembled with the thought of her leaving. Looking up, Effie met his gaze. Her mouth opened and closed, then she looked away again, unable to deny how she felt. But still she said nothing more. Clutching hold of her face, perhaps a little too roughly, Damon forced her head back up and crushed their lips together. He felt her give a little, but only for a moment before Effie pushed him off. “Don’t do that!” She yelled at him, her expression thunderous. “I went crazy when I was with you! I can’t let that happen again. Love’s not supposed to do that. You made me go mad!” She was shaking and tears spilled down her cheeks. He knew she was terrified. So was he. He was scared of losing her, of how he felt, of what might or might not happen.  
“You’re making me mad right now Effie.” He replied quietly, remaining where he was and clenching a fist tightly to try and stop himself from trembling. “And that’s _exactly_ what love’s supposed to do.” She did nothing more than stare at him until fresh tears burst through, then she ran from the room. Damon knew better than to chase her.

_I had to do it._  
It was what she told herself over and over as her tears mixed with the water that washed over her. Turning the shower to its maximum heat, Effie bit back screams as it scolded her. She deserved it. She had hurt him, but it was for his own good. It hurt her too. It was the closest she’d ever been to happiness, and perhaps the closest she ever would get now. But there was no other choice. The task could not be left undone. She couldn’t just run from one life, pick up another, and drop the old one, no matter how easy it seemed. No matter how much she wanted it. There was work to be done.  
To her relief, Damon wasn’t there when she finally got out of the shower and went into her room. She dressed simply in jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie. Nothing she wore belonged to Damon. There was no point taking a piece of him with her. He had to be left behind, otherwise it wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t work.   
Hurriedly stuffing her belongings into a bag, Effie found her phone and took a deep breath before sending the message.

_I’m done here. I’ll be there by this evening._   
_Then the fun can begin. E._

She couldn’t help but smirk, imagining the look on his face when he read it. He’d like it. She’d been walking on thin ice with him lately, acting moody and cold. Not that she had to behave as he wished, but he was more fun when she was happy.  
Stuffing the phone deep into the bottom of her bag, Effie slung it over her shoulder, before realising that she still had perhaps an hour before Domeric would turn up. Throwing herself down onto the bed, Effie lit a cigarette. Then another. Then another. There wasn’t a sound except for her inhaling and exhaling, and a part of her prayed for it to remain that way. If she saw Damon again, it was likely she would tell him everything. She’d ruin everything. And the thought of seeing Jamie’s face when he found out she was leaving made her heart hurt.  
The silence only seemed to be making the situation worse. Effie couldn’t bring herself to call it a decision, because in truth she had no choice; she had to go back. Damon’s reaction was no less than what she had expected. She knew what it was like; to think someone was truly there for you, to love you, only to find out it was all a lie. He had done the exact same thing to her. Yet that still didn’t seem to justify her actions, and it didn’t stop her from wanting to cry and scream from the pain of it.  
For the hour she had to wait for Domeric, Effie remained frozen on the bed trying desperately to numb and dull the pain. She couldn’t afford to think of Damon anymore. She couldn’t afford to think of anyone else but herself. When she heard a car pull up outside, Effie ran to the window. No sigh of relief came to her lips, but she was seized by firm resolution as she saw Domeric getting out of the car; his cold, ghost grey eyes looking around, seeking her out, ready to take her back to the rest of them.  
Gritting her teeth, Effie picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. The mirror in the hallway showed a face carved of marble; cold and unmoving. Good. She carried on down the hallway, not allowing herself to even slow down as she passed Jamie’s door. Her focus was on getting down the stairs, getting outside, getting in the car, going back. Always the next step forward. Even when she was outside, she didn’t look back. She wasn’t going that way.  
“Effie.” Domeric’s voice was filled with such disbelief and shock that it didn’t seem to make sense to her. It didn’t fit in the picture that had been pieced together in her head. It was a false tone. It had to be. Domeric hurried towards her, and she reciprocated his hug willingly enough. The embrace felt familiar and warm, and Effie pulled herself out of it as quickly as deemed possible.  
“Are you okay?” Domeric asked, his face a mask of concern.  
“Let’s just go.” Effie said flatly. She’d have to work on this, otherwise they’d see.  
“What? You’re not even going to say goodbye to me now?” The bitterness in Damon’s voice made her blood run cold, but she turned around nevertheless. He was stood in the doorway, not daring to look her in the eye. Releasing a resigned sigh, Effie walked towards him. When he finally summoned up the courage to look at her, she didn’t look away. She owed him that much.  
_Don’t go_ he begged silently. _Everything you want is here. I’m right here._  
For a moment, Effie thought he might cry. She couldn’t bear to see that again. If he cried for her, she feared she would break.  
“Goodbye. Tell Jamie goodbye from me as well. Thanks for letting me stay.” Effie smiled thankfully, her tone that of an old friend. It was cruel. It was dismissive. It was ignoring anything and everything that had passed between them. Effie felt both relief and guilt as Damon’s grief turned to spite.  
“Everything alright here?” Domeric butted in, as always being able to sense when trouble was brewing.  
“Yep. Tipsy topsy.” Damon shrugged, continuing to glare at her. “S’just that Effie doesn’t want me anymore. Do you princess?” He asked bitterly. Effie’s courage fled her then, and she broke away from his gaze before answering.   
“No.” She lied, her voice cracking as she said the word. Closing her eyes, she waited until the door slammed shut behind him before daring to move.  
“Are you okay?” Domeric rushed over and placed an arm around her shoulders.  
“I’m fine.” Effie snapped, shrugging him off and doing her very best not to feel a thing.

He remained by the window long after the car had disappeared. Hot, angry tears stung his eyes, but he clamped them shut. He was sick of crying for her. She had fucked everything up; flown in like a fucking hurricane and left him to clean up the shit she’d left behind. What the fuck was he going to tell Jamie? The kid always took it to heart when someone walked out on them.  
At the sound of police sirens, he also recalled another ruin left behind in Effie’s wake. He had broken his curfew again last night, and she wasn’t here to save him this time.  
_I could run.  
_ No. He was so tired of people running. He’d been running from himself for so long, and Effie had made him stop and look around him and see how much he had. That much he was grateful for. He wasn’t going to let that one thing she’d left him go just yet.

Her stomach tied itself in knots the whole way back, until she was almost sure she’d be unable to get out of the car without vomiting. Domeric tried to make conversation with her, and Effie managed to reply with all the right answers. From what she could see, he saw nothing strange in her. He was just happy to see her, and that seemed to make the knots in her stomach multiply a thousand-fold.  
“I’m really glad you’re coming home.” He said softly, glancing over at her and smiling.  
“Yeah. Me too.” She smiled back at him. It was true. She couldn’t wait to see what had changed.  
“How’s Ramsay?” Effie asked, watching as Domeric swallowed nervously and the blood drained from his face.   
“I’m not going to lie to you Effie. He’s grown…unpredictable.”  
“What? Like he wasn’t before? He flayed my back because I said something in a fucking magazine.” Effie scoffed.  
“No, it’s just…when he found out that you’d been found, and that you were with Damon…he…”  
“Flipped his shit?” She suggested.  
“Yep. That’s why I’d told dad not to tell him in the first place.” Domeric sighed. He looked tired all of a sudden. It was a look she knew all too well. She had spent eighteen years of her life with Ramsay after all.  
“You didn’t tell him?” Domeric shook his head. “Then who did?” Effie’s brows furrowed together when Domeric just grinned. “Whatever.” She sighed, tired of making chit chat. It felt too normal for her. Taking her hint, Domeric remained silent until they were turning off down the driveway that led to the Bolton estate.   
“Father wants to speak to you.” He informed quietly. Grinding her teeth, Effie tried not to vomit at the thought of what Roose Bolton would have to say to her. Or what he’d do.  
“I want to see Ramsay first.” Effie argued.  
“It’s best you wait until he chooses to see you Eff. He doesn’t like to be disturb…”  
“Fucking hell! He’s my brother, okay? My _actual_ brother, and if I want to see him, I’ll go and fucking see him. Could you maybe for once keep your nose out of my fucking business?” Effie snapped just as the house came into view. Domeric stopped the car sharply, making her stomach lurch, and looked at her with hurt-filled eyes. They both stared at one another in silence, and Effie did her best to deny the feeling of guilt that was crawling beneath her skin.  
“I…I just wanted to help you.” Domeric’s voice was a cracked whisper.  
“That’s great. I guess I owe you one too.” Effie spat, grabbing her bag and jumping out of the car before he could twist the blade again. Before she could reach the front door, something moved in the corner of her eye and she whipped around out of instinct. “Nice to see you back Effie.” Locke leered at her. The grin faltered as Effie curled her lip into a feral snarl. “Some things never change.” Effie growled under her breath, continuing on inside.  
“Effie wait!” She heard Domeric call out behind her. But Effie paid him no heed, dashing on towards the stairs. If there were any changes that had been made to the house, Effie didn’t notice them. When the sound of clashing pots were heard, Effie almost threw herself to the ground as if a gun had been fired. No one appeared, and so she carried on, not even pausing when she reached the floor where her own rooms were. She never allowed herself to falter. She never even allowed herself to think what might be waiting for her in her brother’s room. When she reached his floor, it were as if she’d never been gone. The bathroom door was open, as was the room he used as a study. His bedroom door was firmly shut. Clothes littered the floor, and Effie frowned when she spotted a pair of black lacy knickers that she assumed belong to a woman. Perhaps her brother had collected more pets in her absence, seeing as he’d no longer had her to abuse.  
Once she’d reached the door, Effie did pause. Old instinct screamed at her to knock first, and feared what might happen if she didn’t. But a stronger, firmer voice commanded it to be quiet. Taking a deep breath, Effie threw the door open.  
Inside, she saw nothing but darkness, for a time at least. But there was no need to see what was happening inside the room. The scent of blood and sweat and sex filled her nostrils, and over the sound of her sharp, scared breaths she could hear animalistic grunting, sighs of pleasure, accompanied by fearful whimpers. Eventually, her eyes grew accustomed to the dark, and she could make out three figures on Ramsay’s soiled bed. Her brother’s back was to her, and she would be quite glad for it to remain that way due to the fact he was pounding mercilessly into someone’s backside. That wasn’t the worst of it though. At the head of the bed, a woman Effie had hoped to never see again reclined on the feather pillows; her legs spread wide to accommodate the head that was burrowed between them. Effie already knew whose head it was. She’d been told. She’d been warned. But seeing it all now was so much different.  
“Hi Effie.” She’d been so lost in thought, she hadn’t seen Myranda open her eyes long enough to spot her. Effie’s breath caught in her throat, and Myranda’s cat-like smirk made her stomach twist sickeningly. Her brother ceased thrusting, and turned his head to look at her. The monster inside him remained captured in his pale eyes for a moment, and his teeth were bared in warning until he seemed to register who she was. Effie’s eyes didn’t linger on him long enough for her to notice that though. They instead fell on the figure between them. He had also turned to look at her. His eyes, once so blue and so full of confidence, were now wide with fear. The charming smile that had made the girls swoon was gone, replaced by trembling lips. If Effie hadn’t been warned, she’d never have recognised him.  
“Theon.” Effie breathed. The creature flinched away at the sound of his own name. Turning back to Ramsay, she hardly had to force the look of shock on her face.  
“Eff…Eff, listen, I can explain…” Ramsay’s words echoed around her head. Shaking her head, not wanting any of it to be true, Effie slowly backed out of the room. Once the door was closed, locking the monsters in once more, Effie leaned over and vomited onto the carpet.


	74. Owned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I won't apologise for the mess that you're in  
> I'm gonna hide my eyes from your crimson sin  
> No sacrifice can make atonement again  
> The blood is on your hands, you should be ashamed

Giving three sharp knocks, Effie waited until she heard his voice seep through the thick oaken door. “Come in.” Suppressing a shudder, Effie pushed the door open and stepped inside. Roose Bolton had remained unchanged. There was not a single new wrinkle on his face, and his eyes remained as cold and penetrating as ever.   
“Take a seat Effie.” There was no smile. No words of welcome. Exactly as she had expected. Though it pained her to do so, Effie obeyed and sat on the chair opposite his desk. It was like all those times she’d sat across from the head of school, and there had been many of those times. Only sitting across from Roose was far more terrifying, and Effie knew the centre of his attention was not a good place to be.  
“You said you wanted to see me.” Effie told him as the silence dragged on. Roose had been busying himself with paperwork, but now looked up and fixed her with those cold eyes that his sons also shared. There was a small part of her, the part that lingered from her girlhood that told her to be afraid. But she refused to listen to it.  
“Yes. It’s been a long time since we last saw each other.” Roose pointed out.  
“It’s good to be home.” Effie smiled, looking around her as if Roose’s office was the cosiest place imaginable.  
“I can only imagine. You’ve been through a lot. Too much.” Roose’s face remained emotionless. Her first assumptions had been correct; this man had not changed. He was just as cold, and just as unfeeling. Effie pretended not to notice how uncaring the man was, and just continued to smile. “And yet here I am.” She said. Roose’s eyes narrowed slightly, as though he were trying to sniff out a challenge.  
“Yes.” He nodded, his lips stretching into what could have been a smile. “Here you are.” They held each other’s gazes for what felt like an eternity, until Effie slumped back in her chair abruptly.  
“So, what’s going to happen to me now? I’ve learnt my lesson, Mr Bolton. Truly I have. I should never have been so ungrateful. While I was…it reminded me of what my life could have been like had you not taken me in.” Effie paused and swallowed, as if the memories left a sour taste in her mouth. “Please, I need another chance.” She met his gaze again, her eyes pleading. Roose’s lower lip twitched. Effie held her breath as she felt him study her face; peeling back the layers of skin with his gaze, seeking out the lie.    
“Very well.” Roose inclined his head.  
“So I shall return to work?” Effie had been expecting as much. But it would be worth it. It had to be worth it.  
“No.” It took several seconds for the word to sink in.  
“What?” Effie’s mouth gaped open slightly.  
“You will not return to the same work as before.” Roose’s words still failed to sink in. It made no sense. Why would he accept her back if not to continue doing what she had done? Of course, Effie knew that meant he must have something worse planned for her, but Effie struggled to think of how it could get any worse than what he’d made her do already.  
“Then what will I do?” Effie asked, dreading the answer. The blood had drained from her face, and her eyes grew wide with fear.  
“Do not look so afraid, Effie.” Roose almost smiled, relishing her panic. “I believe it is time for us to start anew. You have done well these past four years and have helped me greatly. Now I believe you can assist me in other ways.” Effie held her breath throughout the pause, which seemed to drag on forever. “I’m sure you will recall Mr Baelish.” How could she forget? It had been his men that found her, and she’d never forget the times she’d worked for him. The way he’d commanded her to moan, and how he’d made her weep when he cried out for Sansa.  
“Of course. It was he and his men that saved me.” Effie said, still wondering what Roose’s intentions were, and what Mr Baelish had to do with them.  
“Indeed. You owe him a lot.” The thought of owing Mr Baelish anything made Effie shift uncomfortably in her chair. “Which is why you will go and work for him now.” Every answer Roose gave her seemed to only lead to yet more questions.  
“I don’t understand, Mr Bolton. Surely I owe you more than I do Mr Baelish. I’d have thought you’d want me to continue as we did before or…or worse. I am a bad investment after all.” Effie couldn’t help but add that, though it was hard for Roose to tell whether it was a snipe towards him or not.  
“That remains to be seen. And you cannot return to the same work as before.” Roose glanced down at the papers on his desk, clearly growing bored of their conversation. His impatience did little to stop her from continuing to ask questions though.  
“Why not?”  
Roose released an irritated sigh. “Because you are scarred and marked. You scarred your own arms, and Domeric informs me that Ramsay flayed your back. Those wounds leave you undesirable to my more respectable clients. And that mark the Greyjoy’s left is well known amongst the lesser clients. They wouldn’t want to touch you, knowing where you’ve been.”  
_Well that’s a relief._  
“How did you know?” It was disturbing to think that Roose knew what scars she possessed. The ones Damon had kissed only that same morning.  
“I believe you’ve met our new maid.” His lips twisted into yet another freakish smile.   
“Myranda’s our maid now?” Effie asked, horrified. Skinner must have told Myranda about her scars.  
“She has proved herself useful.” _Yeah, bet she’s a proper scrubber._ “Especially considering you were so far away, and she knew a lot about what you had been through, and what occurred following your return.” Once again that day, Effie felt her heart begin to ache. “In truth, we were surprised you came back.” Effie avoided looking at Roose, fearing she’d see that smile, or that he’d see the grief on her face.  
“This is my home. I had to come back.” Effie muttered. He allowed her to sit in silence for a long moment; drowning in her misery. Then Roose grew bored, and continued with business.   
“So you will work for Mr Baelish now. You’ll be an assistant for him at his stock market firm. He invests and manages a great many firms and stocks, including my own.” Roose’s mouth twitched, betraying his disdain for this fact.  
“And I suppose, if I were to hear of any issues concerning your own investment, or of anything I consider that would be of interest to you…” Effie’s voice trailed off, and she said the words with a secretive smile. Again, Roose’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head.  
“It appears I underestimated the extent of your talents.” He almost laughed then; a cruel, bitter sound. Effie just smiled grimly. “Shame that. We could have saved each other a lot of trouble.” Roose didn’t appear as amused at that as she was, and promptly returned to his work.  
“One of Petyr’s employees is stopping by tomorrow afternoon. He’d prefer you to know precisely what to do instead of learning when you get there. It seems he can’t afford any slip-ups.” Roose informed, never looking up.  
“And what about college?” Effie couldn’t help but ask. Her second year had finished, but she could still apply to retake next year.  
“There’ll be no need for you to continue with your education. I can ensure your future is secure for as long as we are on agreeable terms.” _In other words, you’ll own me forever._   
Before she could ask any further questions, there was a knock at the door. “Enter.” Roose commanded, still fully focused on his work. Only Effie turned to look and saw Domeric enter, followed by an incredibly large woman. When she caught sight of Effie, her whole face went red and she quickly looked away.  
“Effie, this is our step-mother, Walda.” Domeric introduced her when it appeared Roose would not.  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last Effie.” Walda squeaked, her chins wobbling as she spoke. Looking over at Roose, who remained oblivious to his wife’s presence. Arching an eyebrow, Effie turned back to Walda. “Likewise.” She replied with a small smile.  
“Walda wished to meet you, and to ask you how you liked your rooms.” Domeric smiled kindly at his quivering step-mother.  
“My rooms?”  
“I-I hope you don’t mind, but I redecorated. They just seemed so dreary…” Walda stammered, clutching her hands together nervously.  
“I look forward to seeing them.” Effie smiled at her warmly. “Are we finished here, Mr Bolton?” She asked, standing and turning back to him.  
“Yes.” Was all Roose replied with, momentarily glancing up from his work to nod at her. Effie was glad that the meeting was finally over. She’d hated how powerless Roose made her feel; making her question everything like a child that was struggling to learn. Even so, the encounter had been interesting, and the outcome more intriguing still. She was to work for Mr Baelish now, and to report back to Roose if she thought there was something worthy of knowing. Did that mean he trusted her? Effie somewhat doubted that Roose Bolton was capable of trusting anyone, but perhaps he thought her too afraid of him to disobey after experiencing what became of bad investments.  
Domeric and Walda followed her up the stairs to her rooms, and Effie refrained from telling them both to leave her alone. Even when she reached her floor, they continued to follow her. Glancing over her shoulder, Effie saw Walda practically bouncing with nervous excitement, clearly looking forward to seeing Effie’s reaction to her work. Fortunately, Effie was well practised at hiding her true feelings.  
“What do you think?” Walda squeaked once they entered her bedroom.  
_I don’t belong here_ was Effie’s first thought. The walls of her bedroom had been painted a light cream colour. All the furniture was white besides the pink covers on the bed. Practically everything was fringed with delicate white lace. The band posters Effie was familiar with were gone, replaced by pictures of women from the olden days; sat around gossiping and embroidering.  
“It’s…lovely.” Effie lied, smiling graciously at Walda. She dared not glance at Domeric, fearing that he would know precisely what she was thinking.   
“Really? Do you like it?” Walda’s eyes shone with wonder and admiration that made Effie’s stomach churn almost as much as the room did.  
“Yeah, it’s great. Thank you.” Effie moved further into the room, eyeing the bed desirously. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll sleep for a bit before dinner.” The day’s events had caught up with her, leaving her heart feeling as heavy as her head, and her stomach still felt unsettled from what she had seen.  
She thought she had been prepared for it. She’d known Theon was here, and she’d been told to expect him to be different. But not like that.  
Effie almost felt sorry for him.  
“We’ll leave you to sleep. I’ll come and wake you when it’s time for dinner okay?” Domeric smiled understandingly, but Effie refused to regard him for too long. The concern on his face was almost as sickening as what she’d witnessed upstairs. She waited until the door was closed behind them before casting another look around the alien room.  
“Shit.”


	75. Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me?  
> Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?  
> Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me?  
> Pointing fingers cause you'll never take the blame like me?

She was up before Domeric had a chance to wake her, so his trip up to her room proved fruitless when he found her ready for dinner. Barely sparing a glance at him, Effie passed him and headed downstairs before he could say anything. To her dismay, Myranda was in the kitchen which Effie had to pass through in order to get to the dining room.  
“Evening.” The bitch smirked. A thousand insults flashed through Effie’s mind, but she refrained from saying them. There were bigger problems Effie had yet to face. Myranda could wait her turn. “A hello would have been nice.” Myranda spat at her as she breezed past. Effie continued to ignore her, seeing as that seemed to irk her as much as any other insult would have. If she was working for them now, Effie would see to it she knew her place. At that thought, she grinned and imagined all the ways she could make Myranda’s life unbearable.  
Roose and Walda were already sat at the table, and Walda smiled warmly at her as she entered. Managing a small smile in return, Effie took her seat. Domeric sat down beside her, glancing at her every now and then in the hope of getting her attention. His hopes proved futile as Effie continued to stare down at the table. Moments later, she heard someone heading towards the dining room and turned just in time to see Ramsay appear in the doorway; his hair still damp from showering. She didn’t notice him at first, but as her brother moved to his place she caught sight of a figure shuffling along behind him; a stumbling shadow. Her stomach lurched just at the sight of Theon. Part of her wanted to stare at him, she knew she would be required to give a vivid description of what had become of him. But she couldn’t, because she was afraid that if she stared at him for too long, she would feel guilt.   
To her horror, the creature that had once been Theon continued to follow her brother to his place at the table, and knelt down beside him once he was seated. It took Effie a moment to notice that her brother was grinning at her; the earlier shock of her walking in on them apparently having worn off.  
“Ramsay, you know my rule. You will not treat Theon like a pet at the table.” Effie had completely forgotten about the presence of any others, and so Roose’s voice made her jump in her seat. Then her gaze switched from him to Theon, who was climbing onto the chair next to Ramsay, always glancing over at him (only him) and flinching at the anger he saw in Ramsay’s gaze. It was like watching Jeyne all over again, only now the damage was just as physical as it was mental. Looking at his hands, Effie saw that fingers were missing, though how many remained a mystery to her as she couldn’t stare too long without feeling ill. His face was littered with scars and bruises, and his blue eyes were wide as saucers. He had developed a constant twitch too, and the once proud man that had made all boys jealous with his swagger, now hunched and flinched at every movement Ramsay made.  
And yet, despite the Gollum-like creature that sat amongst them, no one seemed shocked or horrified by his existence. Walda and Roose engaged in small talk as they waited for dinner to be served, while Ramsay fingered his knife and grinned as his creature watched him warily. Instinctively, Effie turned to Domeric in search of reassurance, and an explanation. Domeric just smiled sadly at her. But when he inched his hand across the table to try and touch hers as a form of comfort, Effie moved her hand off of the table and looked away. Fortunately, a few moments later, their food arrived; carried in by Myranda on a silver tray. She was all courteous and respectful as she served them; Effie suspected she was too afraid of Roose to even try making a cruel remark. Even so, Effie had to resist the urge to back her chair into her as she passed.  
“Reek, seeing as my sister has returned, poor Myranda has extra to carry. You should help her, considering she did you such a kindness earlier.” Ramsay spoke to Theon, but kept his eyes on Effie.  
“Yes master.” Came Theon’s broken reply. Effie was alarmed by the title he had bequeathed her brother. “Master?” She blurted out before she could stop herself.  
“Yes. Isn’t my pet courteous?” Ramsay chuckled; the gleam in his eyes daring her to continue. Effie wasn’t about to disappoint.  
“Pet? He’s a human being for fuck sake!” She cried incredulously.  
“Not so much anymore.” Ramsay scoffed, unperturbed by her outburst. That grin that had initially sickened her, now triggered something besides nausea. Taking a deep breath, Effie slumped back in her seat.  
“So it’s true.” She breathed, keeping a close eye on her brother’s reaction.  
“What is?” He asked, his upper lip twitching. Effie could hear Theon enter the room even though her back was to him.   
“Everything.” She said quietly; her voice filling with grievous disbelief. “Everything they told me.” Forcing tears to her eyes, Effie ducked her head and paused for a long moment for the meaning to sink in. “You took him, and you tortured him for months, and you paid for him by letting them take me. You kept him, and gave up on me!” She yelled, glaring at Ramsay.  
“That’s not true!” Everyone turned to look at Domeric, shocked by his sudden outburst. Anger filled his eyes, and his face was strained as though he were in pain. Breaking away from his gaze, Effie looked over at Ramsay, who had grown silent and pale.  
“Now, can we not talk about this over dinner? Please.” Domeric pleaded. Looking to Roose, then back to Ramsay, then glancing at Domeric, Effie nodded her silent consent.  
After Ramsay ordered Theon to sit back down, they all ate in silence. That was until it was time for dessert, of course, when Effie couldn’t help but look Myranda in the eye and ask “Will we be having tart?”

It was perhaps the last thing Effie wanted to do, but she forced herself up the stairs anyway. It was with some relief that she saw Ramsay’s bedroom door was open, and heard his voice coming from the direction of his den. At least she wouldn’t have to go into his bedroom again. Nevertheless, it was still with some trepidation that when she entered the room, she saw Ramsay sat on his sofa, with Theon’s head in his lap. If Effie was counting her blessings, she could at least focus on the fact that Myranda was still downstairs washing the dishes after dinner.  
“Hi.” She began with. Her brother looked up from his petting and frowned, confused by her presence. “You should knock next time. Never know what you might walk in on.” He said, without a trace of amusement in his tone. Ever since Domeric’s outburst at dinner, Effie had noted that Ramsay had grown quiet and sullen, and it was apparent his bad mood had continued.  
“I’m sorry.” Effie said; her voice sincere and strong. Once again, her brother regarded her with confusion. “What I said at dinner, I could tell it upset you.” Ramsay remained silent and stared down at the head in his lap, continuing to play with the soiled curls. Ignoring him, Effie continued. “They sort of told me what happened that night, but chances are they were bullshitting.” Ramsay continued to look down at his pet. “The longer I’m away from them, the harder it is to believe what they told me is true. No matter how much they tortured it into me. One thing I do know though,” Effie stepped forward, succeeding in gaining her brother’s attention. “You murdered Sansa Stark.”  
“No.” Her brother’s hand tightened amongst Theon’s curls, betraying the lie.  
“Yes. Theon went missing…”  
“His name is Reek!” Ramsay snapped.  
“He went missing the same night I saw him at the club. You got him, somehow. Tortured him. Made him into your pet. Theon had substances on him that night. You used them to murder Sansa. That’s why the Greyjoy mark was on the syringe.” Effie pieced together, her voice flat and toneless. He no longer tried to hide it.  
“You don’t seem shocked.” He pointed out.  
“Nothing you do shocks me anymore Ramsay. I just want to know why. She’d never done anything to you.” A lump had formed in her throat, but Effie choked it down. Now was not a time for weakness.  
“No. She hadn’t.” Ramsay admitted. “But what makes you think I was killing her simply for my own benefit?” Pausing for a moment, Effie put the pieces together.  
“The family business…you’re paid to kill, aren’t you?” Effie remained unsurprised. It was nothing she didn’t know already. Ramsay nodded, and for a second she found herself grateful for his honesty.  
“So why is Th…Reek, still alive?” She asked, finally summoning enough courage to actually look at him. A smile spread across her brother’s face. “Must’ve been the night you kicked him in the balls and nicked his stuff. Woke up to someone yelling outside, telling you to come down here. Calling you a thieving whore. Course you weren’t here, but he didn’t know that. Dad had gone back up North. I answered the door, and there stood Theon Greyjoy; so pissed he could barely stand up. I was angry at first, hearing him call you a whore. Would have killed him, but…he was so arrogant. Even drunk. So proud of himself. Couldn’t resist breaking him apart; making him into something he wasn’t. And here we are.” Her brother chuckled, fondly stroking Reek’s hair.   
“Well thank you for defending my honour.” She said dryly. Ramsay shot her a warning look. “And you’ve got Myranda back I see.” Effie continued.  
“Why? You missed her?” Her brother chuckled. “She told me what happened. That you were at Damon’s.”  
“And that she cheated on him with Skinner? Classy girl that one.” Effie snorted.  
“Heard you had your fair share of time with him too.” Ramsay pointed out. “Didn’t expect that of you.”  
“Yeah well you didn’t expect me to go mental either. Appears I’m rather unpredictable.” She shrugged, smirking. Ramsay didn’t laugh.  
“Why did you come back? You could have stayed with Damon, had everything you wanted since you were thirteen. Myranda said he was into you.” She had tried so hard not to think of Damon all day, but now found herself having to blink back the tears that stung her eyes.  
“Would you have let me stay?” Effie couldn’t help but ask, despite knowing it wouldn’t do her any good.  
“Probably not, if I grew bored.” Her brother shrugged. “I did miss you, you know. Domeric and I, even dad, we all thought you were dead. Didn’t seem to make sense that you might be alive. Even Reek said it wasn’t Euron’s style.” Effie’s heart hammered in her chest at the look of confusion on Ramsay’s face.  
“Guess I’m just lucky then.” She muttered, before turning away and leaving without another word.

By the time she reached her bedroom, both her head and her heart were pounding. Ramsay wouldn’t have picked anything up from that, would he? What if Theon had noticed anything suspicious? He’d tell Ramsay in fear of being punished if he kept dangerous information to himself.  
She was being paranoid. Maybe it was due to lack of sleep. She hadn’t slept last night, and it had been a hard day. The sight of her bed just made her eyelids heavy, and she staggered towards it with her eyes closed; ready to fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.  
“Are you okay?” Effie groaned internally at the sound of Domeric’s concerned tone.  
“Fine. Tired.” She practically growled, opening her eyes and staring longingly at her bed.   
“You talked to Ramsay then?” He asked.  
“He is my brother. My _actual_ brother. Siblings tend to talk to one another.” She grumbled, turning to glare at him. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone?  
“Okay. But you’re alright, yeah? He didn’t say anything to upset you or…”  
“No! For fuck sake, can’t you just leave me alone? I’m sick of having you around me all the time! Why can’t you just let me wipe my own arse for once and focus on your own shit?” She snapped, her voice filled with venomous hate. Domeric looked wounded, his eyes full of hurt and a sense of betrayal. Despite how tired she was, Effie couldn’t help but feel bad. But she pushed that feeling away as soon as she noticed it.   
“I’m your brother. I worry about you.” Domeric admitted, swallowing painfully.  
“Well don’t. I don’t want you to worry about me. I don’t _need_ you anymore, get it?” The words drove him from the room; the coldness of her voice beating him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. Been going through some stuff. I'll try to start posting more regularly, and thanks for sticking around if you're still reading!


	76. Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a party girl,  
> Do a twirl,  
> See my eyes throw a glance,  
> Can't you see i'm a natural?

“Argh, fuck off I’m sleeping.” Effie groaned as the sheets were ripped back. Grabbing hold of the duvet, she yanked it out of the disturbers grasp and burrowed beneath it.  
“Well it’s time you got up.” A sharp, no-nonsense voice replied. There was a slight northern accent to it. It wasn’t one Effie was expecting, and it was only vaguely familiar. When the covers were pulled back again, Effie opened her eyes to see a red-haired woman stood beside her bed; an intricately plucked brow raised expectantly. “Who the fuck are you and why are you in my room?” Effie growled, not at all phased by the imposter.  
“Don’t you remember me? We’ve met before you know.” A smile danced upon painted lips.  
“Have we? Can’t remember.” Effie muttered, sitting up slowly.  
“Yes. Your first night living with Mr Bolton as I recall.” She could hardly recall that night. So much had happened, and she was a different person now. But the warm smile, and the northern accent stirred her memory.  
“Ros?” Effie almost gasped. She hadn’t seen Ros since a man had taken her away that night. A part of Effie had thought her dead.  
“Long time no see Effie.” Ros laughed. “Now, I think it’s time you got dressed, don’t you?” She strode across to the wardrobe; her clothes oozed class and sensuality. Effie was somewhat embarrassed when she pulled out a chain-embellished strip of fabric that Effie used to call a dress. “Jesus Christ.” Ros breathed, casting the dress aside and picking out another item; this time a pair of jeans that were made up more of rips than actual denim. “It seems you’re going to be something of a challenge. Tell me, has your style changed at all since when I last saw you?” Ros laughed, continuing to pull out clothes and throw them on the floor.  
“I think skirts and dresses have gotten shorter, if that’s at all possible.” Effie chuckled, hugging her knees and watching her wardrobe lose its contents to the floor. However, when Ros pulled out an old shirt, Effie leapt to her feet. “Wait! Not that.” She said, snatching it out of the carefully-manicured hands. It was Damon’s old shirt. Effie stared at the fabric, not quite sure what to do with it as Ros watched her.  
“What are you going to do with all my clothes?” Effie asked, staring at the pile somewhat mournfully; as if her life had just been thrown on the rubbish heap. It wasn’t much, torn and faded in most places, but now that it came to changing Effie found herself afraid.  
“I’m just finding you something to wear. What you do with your own clothes is up to you. But selling clothes worn by _the_ Effie Snow is sure likely to earn you some decent cash. Your _own_ cash, Effie. You won’t owe anyone for it.” Effie looked at Ros, who was continuing her search for a decent outfit.  
“I like the sound of that.” She admitted, earning an appraising smile.

Eventually, Ros settled on an outfit; a black blouse she found at the very back, paired with a body con skirt and black pumps. “You still look like you’re going to a funeral.” Ros sighed.  
They passed nobody on their way out. Outside, Ros’ car waited. It was a sleek black Bentley, shofar driven. “How did you afford this? I thought you were a…you know…like me.” Effie puzzled.  
“I was a prostitute, yes. The word is allowed Effie. But I wasn’t completely like you. Mr Baelish realised my potential and here I am. His personal assistant and confidant.” Ros beamed, sliding into the backseat. Effie clambered in next to her.  
“What do you mean not completely like me?” She asked, her eyes narrowing.  
“Well you were so young, and you’d been doing this since you were very young. Then you moved in with Roose and were won over by this knew lifestyle. It just seems like you never thought any of it through. With all due respect, you were something of a push over.” Ros shrugged nonchalantly. Effie dealt her a deadly stare. “You don’t have a fucking clue what would have happened to me if I hadn’t obeyed.” She growled.  
“Neither did you when you started out.” Ros pointed out. “Don’t be angry Effie. We all have our times of weakness.” She smiled sympathetically. Effie stared out the window, refusing to speak or look at her. “Seriously? You’re going to sulk?” Frowning, Effie turned to look at her. “God. You’ve got some growing up to do before you come and work for Mr Baelish.”  
“I wasn’t sulking!” Effie snapped. The redhead’s obvious amusement only served to put Effie in a worse mood. The car remained in a state of sullen silence for the fifteen minute drive to the train station. It was as they were parking that it occurred to Effie she had no idea what they were doing, or where they were going.  
“Where are you taking me?” She asked, grudgingly breaking her vow of silence.  
“London.” Ros said matter-of-factly, pulling her phone out of her bag and nonchalantly typing out a message.  
“Why?”  
“Because that’s where the office is.” Ros replied, using a condescending tone that made Effie curl her lip.  
“We’re going there now?” She asked, exasperated. According to Ros, she couldn’t even dress herself right.  
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course we’re not.” Ros scoffed, rolling her eyes and climbing out of the car. Pausing for a moment, Effie considered all the ways she could discreetly get away with murdering Ros. “How silly of me.” She sighed, before getting out of the car herself. “So where _are_ we going?”  
“Shopping.” Ros thanked the driver and strode off towards the station.  
“Doesn’t sound like work to me.” Effie muttered, having to run to catch up with her, even though Ros was in heels. “Doesn’t Littlefinger just want me to make tea and coffees and collect stuff from the printer?” Effie almost fell backwards from how forcefully Ros rounded on her.  
“Let’s get a few things straight right now. Firstly, don’t ever call him Littlefinger. Secondly, you need to grow the fuck up. Thirdly, you can’t possibly work for Mr Baelish looking like a grungy prostitute. So yes, you’re going to work for him, we’re going shopping to find you suitable clothing for work. I’m going to teach you how to behave and you will listen and you will learn. And we are going to have to do something about your awful hair because it’s making me feel sick just looking at it.” Ros regarded her bleached strands with disdain. This wasn’t the kindly woman Effie recalled from when she was fourteen. But then again, time changed everyone.  
“First lesson you have to learn in the trading industry. Money is war. Learn how to play the game, even if you’re only an assistant. You’ve got to start somewhere.” Ros turned away from her and continued towards the station. Watching her go, Effie slowly began to understand the woman she’d thought she’d known. Ros was ruthless and ambitious; she’d adapted to her circumstances, just like Effie had had to do.  
“You’ll work Monday to Friday, full time.” She told her sternly as they walked.  
“Full time?” Effie panicked. She needed to be home; to observe.  
“Yes. Full time. It is down to you to get to the station. From there, you’ll need to get the train to Charing Cross, then take the Northern Line to Canary Wharf. Can you remember that?” Effie had been to London before, many times. But she’d usually had a driver to take her around. She’d never been on the tube before. Upon seeing her concern, Ros released an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes again. “Fine. We’ll go there first so you know your way. If you’re late it will be taken out of your pay. No exceptions, not even if the train is late.”  
“But how can I be on time if the train is late?” Effie asked incredulously.  
“You run.” Ros said, her gaze like steel.

How he hated these family dinners. Ramsay longed for the days when his father had been away, and he could eat in his room. In there, he didn’t have to treat his Reek like a human, and the training and humiliation could continue. He’d make him kneel, sit back on his haunches, beg nicely for food like a good bitch, and that’s what Ramsay would call him after. Of course, if Reek had behaved himself all day Ramsay would be lenient. He never made him do tricks if he’d been good.  
Seeing his pet sat in a chair, using a knife and fork like a normal person, it was infuriating. As if he could see all his hard work being undone right before his eyes. He made sure to teach him a lesson after every meal; resulting in Reek being bloody, but begging and assuring he knew who he was. Ramsay was sure to reward him after. He didn’t want his pet to hate him. Quite the opposite in fact.  
Myranda smiled seductively at him as he passed through the kitchen. He ignored her. The girl was fun to have around most of the time, and she had opened up a lot of new opportunities for him and Reek, but she was still kind of irritating. She was jealous of Reek for starters, and when she’d once dared to complain, Ramsay had promised he could do the same to her if that was what she wished. Besides, she was their maid now. It wasn’t like before. Ramsay mattered now. She still didn’t.  
“Evening father, mother.” He muttered upon entering the dining room. Only Walda replied. Domeric was already sat down too, but Ramsay offered him no greeting. Following the night of Effie’s disappearance, they had resorted to completely ignoring one another.   
Ramsay sat, and ordered Reek to sit even though he knew there was no choice. They were sat in silence for almost five minutes. Effie’s chair remained vacant.  
“Sir, dinner is ready.” Myranda informed, striding into the dining room; appearing flustered and irritated, though whether because of Effie’s lateness or the fact Ramsay had ignored her on the way in, he couldn’t say.  
“We should wait for Effie.” Walda squeaked. Ramsay rolled his eyes. He was starving.  
“I’m not sure she’s back yet. Wasn’t she meeting one of Mr Baelish’s assistants?”  
“Actually we made sure I was back in time for dinner. You’ve all set your clocks five minutes faster. Probably after the clocks changed and the clock in the kitchen was the first to be adjusted, which was five minutes early to start off with.” They all turned and stared in shock at the stranger in the doorway. “Swiss quartz.” The woman smiled, tapping the watch at her wrist. On closer inspection, Ramsay actually managed to recognise his sister, but he had to look long and hard.  
Her hair was dyed back to its natural colour, and was cut to just below her shoulders. A stylist had layered and curled it too. They had also done her make up; sleek winged eyeliner and painted red lips as opposed to her usual heavy eyeshadow. Her outfit was just as out of character as her makeup. Tailored black trousers were paired with a ruffled blouse and leather jacket, with black heels on her feet. He’d never seen her look so grown up, and it seemed everyone else looked just as shocked as Ramsay did.   
Ignoring their stares, Effie walked over to Myranda and held out her handbag. “Perhaps you could put this away for me? And a glass of wine would be greatly appreciated too.” Her smile was dazzling, and betrayed no hint of the hatred he knew his sister held for their new maid.  
“And what kind of wine does m’lady want?” Myranda almost growled. Ramsay smirked at the sight of her jealous glare. There was Effie, looking classy as fuck while Myranda was stuck in a grubby maids outfit.  
“Red, thank you.” She commanded, slipping out of her coat and handing that to Myranda as well before striding faultlessly to her seat. “I’m awfully sorry for delaying dinner though, Mr Bolton. It was not my intention.” Effie gushed; painted red lips stretching over white teeth in a stunning smile. Was it Ramsay’s imagination, or had his father almost smiled?  
“That’s quite alright Effie. I trust you had a good day with Ros?” Roose asked, watching her the whole time as Myranda came back in with a glass of wine for Effie. Ramsay half expected her to trip up and spill it all over his sister, but she managed to refrain. The blouse Effie wore alone must’ve cost more than the ring Damon had bought Myranda.  
“It was truly eye-opening. Like a whole new world.” His sister picked up her glass, and the painted lips twisted into a wicked smirk. “I can’t wait to see more of it.”


	77. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark  
> Can't be sure when they've hit their mark  
> And besides in the mean, mean time  
> I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart

Effie spent the next week with Ros, learning the ways of the stock market trade as well as how to be an assistant and how to behave like a grown up. Fortunately, Effie learned quickly, and she embraced this new image she saw each morning in the mirror. The sad teenager who always appeared to look sorry for herself was gone, replaced instead by a young business woman ready to climb the ladder of one of the biggest and most successful asset management firms. She suited the role well.  
However, no amount of designer clothes or lessons from Ros could have prepared her for the actual job itself. Every day she found herself overwhelmed by the pace of it all. Traders yelled down phones as stocks rose and fell; always keeping one eye on the screens. Assistants like her dashed around, juggling teas and coffees and bits of paper containing numbers and figures they found impossible to make sense of, such was their inexperience. It was terrifying. But there was no one to turn to for help; Effie was expected to do what she was told, when she was told. She never dared to ask why or how. There was no time for mistakes. But despite how stressful it all seemed, she found that she actually enjoyed it. She liked keeping up with everyone, and she felt so neat and organised. There was never an idle moment. What’s more, the job offered up other opportunities. Mr Baelish’s clients were of the highest order, and Effie recognised many of them. She knew them all too well, the men at least. Not many of them recognised her, but she was a different person now. It was interesting to note who had hired Mr Baelish to manage their assets, and she reported back to Roose every evening when she returned home, informing him of all she’d learnt. Much to her surprise, she had only caught a glimpse of Mr Baelish a few times, and he’d not looked at her once. He treated her just like he treated all the other assistants.  
“He’s a very busy man. Why should he treat you any different?” Ros had said after Effie had mentioned it. She arched a neat brow at that, and for once Ros seemed surprised. “You? And Mr Baelish?” She’d whispered, glancing towards Petyr’s office. “Well what was he like?” Ros had asked, her professional demeanour gone.  
“Like all the others.” Effie had shrugged, before proceeding to hand out the weekly reports.   
By Friday afternoon, she was exhausted. Fortunately the firm closed early on Fridays, so she was home by five. Myranda was just coming out of the lounge when she’d come in. “Been fired yet?” The maid sneered.  
“You’ll be soon if you don’t watch your tongue.” Effie snapped back, her tone cold enough to rival Roose’s. Despite her newfound maturity, Effie couldn’t help but relish just casting her coat and bag down for Myranda to put away. “Is Mr Bolton back from work yet?” She inquired.  
“Not that I know of.” Myranda muttered, hurriedly putting Effie’s stuff away. Sighing, Effie strode into the kitchen, wondering what to do with the rest of her afternoon. She knew what she _should_ do, but that held no particular appeal. Idly getting a glass of water, Effie stared out the window; enjoying the peace and quiet that seemed to leave her ears buzzing.  
The peace was disturbed a few moments later by an ungraceful shuffling behind her. Immediately recognising the staggered gait, Effie slowly turned to see the stooped, broken version of Theon in the doorway; his bright blue eyes peering at her through a mess of hair. Their gazes met only for a moment before he looked away.  
“Can I help you with something Theon?” Effie asked. He flinched away, as though the name were a blade. “Not Theon. Reek.” She heard him mutter. “Master’s hungry. He wanted me to get him some food.” Saying nothing more, she moved away from the sink; always keeping the same distance between them. He was like a fearful animal, his eyes constantly twitching towards her to check she was keeping her distance as he grabbed a packet of crisps from the cupboard. The packet rustled as his hands shook. Sitting down at the small table in the kitchen, Effie continued to watch him; expecting him to bolt from the room now he had what he needed. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned to face her. She could have sworn he was stood a little straighter too.  
“I…” He choked on the next word. Not Reek, Theon. Theon’s voice struggled to get through; to escape Reek’s panicked clutches. Effie gripped the table, inching forward in her seat; her eyes were fixated on him now as his haggard face appeared when he raised his head. “I’m sorry.” He finally managed. Effie held her breath, somewhat taken aback. She’d never heard an apology so meaningful.   
“For what I did…when you were younger. I didn’t know. I had no idea. I just wanted to hurt him.” Theon choked on a sob, his head ducking back down as if an imaginary hand were beating him. “I didn’t know.” He sobbed again. When she felt tears sting her eyes, Effie closed them until the feeling went away. Theon was still there when she opened them again.  
_Should I tell him?_  
No. She couldn’t. This could be a trick. Maybe Reek had worked her out and told Ramsay. This could be a trick. Would they kill her? Effie doubted that. But whatever happened to her, it wouldn’t be good.  
Theon was staring at her, waiting for her to say something. She knew she should apologise. If she’d just ignored him that night at the club, none of this would have happened. Sansa might still be alive.  
But her mouth had gone dry, and her throat was raw. She knew no words.  
“Please…” Theon rasped.   
“I knew you’d fuck up sometime.” Myranda sang, dancing into the kitchen and making Theon scurry back into his shell. “What will your master say Reek? Or is it Theon now?” She laughed cruelly.  
“Not Theon! Reek! Reek! It rhymes with weak, meek. I know my name! I know who I am!” Reek howled, before bolting from the room. Myranda watched him go, still laughing as he stumbled up the stairs on maimed feet.  
Her back was turned on Effie as she watched him go.  
When she turned back around, Effie was on her. With one quick shove, Myranda was held up against the wall; a blade kissing her throat. “Remember the last time I threatened you?” Effie purred. “What would happened to you the next time you fucked with me? Well I’m going to remind you right now.” Pulling back the knife, Myranda released a scream as she stabbed it into the wood of the door, mere millimetres from the side of Myranda’s face. “You tell Ramsay nothing, got it?”  
“Tell me what?” Effie span around at the sound of Ramsay’s voice, and smiled pleasantly, releasing her grip on Myranda.  
“Nothing. We’re just playing. No reason you can’t share the maid Ramsay.” Effie laughed. Ramsay smiled, raising an eyebrow at Myranda. “And why is my Reek so scared?” He asked, glancing at the knife still in Effie’s hand. Holding back a smirk, Effie turned to Myranda. The maid’s look was fearful, and Effie could’ve sworn she was on the edge of tears.  
“Myranda?” Ramsay probed.  
“I…I upset him.” She admitted, choking on a sob. Intrigued, Effie watched as her brother’s look darkened and he strode toward Myranda, grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Jealousy bores me Myranda. You remember what happens to people who bore me?” Ramsay snarled.  
“Yes Ramsay.” Myranda whispered.  
“Good.” Smiling, he turned to Effie. “You’re home early.”  
“Work finishes early on Friday’s apparently.” Effie shrugged.  
“Suppose you’ll be grateful for the weekend off. Spying on rich people must be tiring.” Her brother chuckled.  
“Feels like a constant occupation.” She laughed back. “Anyway, I’ve got work to do.”

After the pace of work, the weekend seemed to crawl by, and Effie found herself longing for it to be over. She spent the two days looking over the weekly reports that she’d taken home from the office; trying to get her head around them and noting if she spotted any issues. Maths had never been Effie’s strong point, but she didn’t give up. She needed the information.  
Her work was only interrupted by Domeric who, despite her outburst the other day, still tried to find excuses to spend time with her. He asked her if she wanted to play guitar, if she wanted to go for a walk, if she wanted to go and see the horses.  
“I’m busy.” She’d reply distractedly, her head always buried in the weekly reports.  
When it came to Monday morning, Effie left early; taking a taxi down to the station at seven. She was in London by eight, and reached the office three quarters of an hour early. Of course she wasn’t the only one. A number of the traders had arrived already, and were already checking the state of the market after the weekend. Ros was there too, but none of the assistants had arrived yet.  
“Effie, thank god you’re here.” Already she knew Ros wanted her to do something. She wouldn’t have been so happy to see her otherwise. Effie said nothing, waiting for the favour.  
“Mr Baelish is in a meeting with investors now, and he asked me to get them drinks fifteen minutes ago, but the printer’s fucked and I’m supposed to wait around for the tech guy, who’s taking fucking ages.”  
“I’ll get the drinks.” Effie smiled, glad that Ros was now indebted to her.  
“Oh thank you! Thank you thank you. The list of what they want is on my desk.” Remaining collective and cool, Effie strode past her.  
“I got it.” She laughed over her shoulder at the frantic Ros, who was already rushing off to find the tech guy. Striding to Ros’ desk, she picked up the piece of paper. Two teas, a coffee, and a water. Easy enough. Effie worked efficiently and precisely, carrying the drinks on a tray down towards Mr Baelish’s office, which led on to the conference room; dodging people as she went. Breathing a sigh of relief upon reaching the door, Effie backed through the door in order to open it.  
When turning, she stumbled to a stop; allowing the tray to tumble to the floor.  
The meeting drew to a sudden stop as the cups smashed on the carpet, and they all turned to stare at her.  
“Really? There are thousands of immigrants looking for work in this city, and you choose to hire _her_?” Cersei sneered at an unimpressed Petyr. Effie was hardly paying her any attention.  
At the far end of the room, making the chair he sat on look like a footstall, sat Gregor Clegane. He was staring at her.  
“She can’t even get carrying cups right. Maybe she should go back to whoring.” At the sound of Joffrey’s petulant whine, Effie snapped out of it. Her knees ceased quivering, and she stood up a little straighter.  
“I’m ever so sorry Mr Baelish, I’ll go and make some more drinks right away, and see to it this is cleaned up.” She said, crouching low and picking up the mess she’d made, stacking it back on the tray.  
“Yes. You’ll clean it up yourself.” Was all Mr Baelish said. It was the first time he’d spoken to her since he’d found her and taken her from Euron.  
“Yes Mr Baelish.” Effie nodded. “I’m sorry, might I ask for the list of drinks again? I threw the list away.” She muttered, not meeting their gazes.  
“That’s quite alright, Effie Snow.” She’d hardly noticed Tyrion, who had been sat with his back to her, though he turned to smile at her now. “It’s a tea for me, two sugars. A tea for my brother, no sugar. A coffee as black as my sister’s heart, and water for Gregor. I don’t suppose you have any squash for my nephew do you?” Effie bit back a laugh.  
“I’m not a child!” Joffrey snapped.  
“I’ll get them for you right away.” Effie turned and left the room, a smile playing upon her lips. Once she was back in the kitchen, she pulled out the list.  
She hadn’t thrown it away.  
Teas for Tyrion and Jaime. A coffee for Cersei. And water for the monster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year to all my readers! I'm so thankful to each and every one of you for following this story through its ups and downs and I wish you all the best for 2016 :)


	78. Player

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the crooks are out   
> And the streets are gray   
> You know I wouldn't have it   
> Any other way

The coffee had stained the carpet, so Effie managed to listen in on the entire meeting. If Roose Bolton had seen her then, she swore he would have danced with excitement, as disturbing as that image was.  
The Lannisters, as it turned out, were in serious financial trouble. Their stocks were falling rapidly and the banks were calling in debts. Tywin Lannister couldn’t even be present at the meeting because he couldn’t afford to leave the office for a second. Effie was shocked that they didn’t send her out of the room, what with all the crucial information that was floating around. But then she remembered what she was to them; Roose Bolton’s method of payment. A brainless whore.   
Well if that was the role she had to play to learn such important information, she’d play it gladly.  
The stain was just about gone by the time Cersei rose from her chair. “We’ll return next week. If our stocks haven’t improved, we’ll find someone else.” Cersei promised. Standing up from where she’d been knelt on the carpet, Effie glanced at Petyr, who seemed completely unperturbed by that threat.  
“I can assure you Mrs Baratheon…”  
“It’s Ms, if you please.” Cersei cut in. Effie vaguely recalled hearing about the death of Robert Baratheon. She couldn’t say she’d been particularly upset. The man had fucked her multiple times, and he’d always been rough and clumsy from drinking.   
But she couldn’t help but wonder about the circumstances of his death. He’d been young enough, and was always full of boisterous energy. Her time as a friend to Myrcella had shown her how much Cersei had hated him. Putting the pieces together, Effie wouldn’t have been surprised if her brother had had something to do with Robert’s death.  
“Of course. I will do everything in my power to manage your stocks. They’ll be quite safe with my company.” Mr Baelish assured. “Now, if you’ll follow my assistant here, she’ll get your coats and see you out.” It took Effie a second to realise he meant her.  
“Oh great. A whore guide.” Joffrey snorted at his own witty joke. Effie couldn’t help but roll her eyes.   
“I’m sure Mr Baelish would appreciate it if you refrained from abusing his staff.” Tyrion scolded, standing and walking over to her. “If you would be so kind as to get our coats. I’m sure you want us all gone so you can return to your work.” Tyrion said, walking towards her. The others followed, and Effie watched as Gregor rose from his chair, setting his empty glass onto the table.  
“Of course Mr Lannister.” Effie smiled pleasantly before heading towards the cloakroom to retrieve their coats. Each of them grudgingly thanked her.  
“Emmie is it?” Jaime asked once Cersei caught him blushing.  
“It’s Effie actually.” She replied through gritted teeth. It were as if she could feel Jaime stepping on her; stamping her into the ground and hurriedly covering her with dirt. _You can’t hide me that easily._  
Much to her relief, Gregor didn’t have a coat so there was no need for her to go over to him.  
“This way.” She said, mirroring Ros’ professional persona.  
“We know which way it is.” Cersei snapped. It gave Effie great pleasure to turn her head and raise an eyebrow at the woman’s childish behaviour.  
“Simply following instructions Ms Baratheon.” She smiled. “Now, if you’ll follow me.”  
“Just follow her Cersei. She’s clearly not following the same occupation as when she was a child.” Tyrion argued, looking Effie up and down. “She’s a business woman now.” He was the first to follow her, and she slowed down a little when it was apparent he was trying to walk alongside her.  
“I heard about your trouble with the Greyjoys.” Tyrion told her quietly. “It’s a shock to see you back, truth be told.”  
“You’re telling me.” Effie chuckled.  
“From what I’ve heard, they aren’t the sort to keep live captives. Though as I understand it you weren’t the sort to be afraid of dying.” For a moment, Effie was confused. Then a smile played upon her lips as she remembered. “How is Podrick?” She asked. “He’s at university now isn’t he?”   
“Why would he be at university?” It was Tyrion’s turn to be confused now.  
“He got into Aberystwyth, to do a history degree.” Effie said.  
“Did he? That damned boy! He’s too loyal for his own good.” Tyrion seemed genuinely angry. The thought of Podrick not pursuing a career in history saddened her. He had made a good teacher, even if she’d never made it to the exams.   
“He’s still working for me. Obviously couldn’t look up from his shoes long enough to tell me he planned on moving to Wales.” Tyrion smiled fondly.  
“He’s braver than you give him credit for.” Effie argued. They fell quiet as they descended the stairs, with the rest of the Lannister crew following.  
“I do hope to see you all again next week.” Effie resumed her professional demeanour once they reached the lobby.  
“Yes. Perhaps you could manage to deliver the drinks without falling over next time.” Joffrey sniggered.  
“You must forgive my clumsiness. It’s just that seeing you again Joffrey…how can I put this…well, it left my nose a bit out of joint.” She had to bite back laughter as his expression darkened. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” Effie continued brightly. As she turned to leave, it dawned upon her that she would have to pass Gregor. Effie did so with her head held high; she looked him right in the eye. A wicked, unbidden smile creeped across her face as he met her gaze.

She’d decided to take a smoking break, not that she smoked all that much anymore. Only when Effie really needed time to think. It surprised her when her thoughts were interrupted by Ros throwing herself down onto the bench beside her and lit up.   
“I didn’t know you smoked.” Effie admitted.  
“Yeah well, it’s been a rough day.” Ros snapped back. Clearly her earlier gratitude had worn off. “Mr Baelish wants to see you.” She informed. “Probably planning on firing you after your ruined his carpet.”  
“I couldn’t help it.” Effie admitted, recalling the moment she’d walked into the room and come face to face with one of her monsters.  
“Well try not to be such an idiot next time, if you get a next time.” Ros growled.  
“Oh yeah? How would you have reacted if you’d walked in to find a man who’d once fucked you, left you with multiple dislocations and broken bones, sobbing and screaming in agony until you passed out from the pain?”  
The words were on the tip of Effie’s tongue, but she bit them back.  
“Right. Will do.” She said instead, stamping out her cigarette. “Is the boss in his office?” Effie asked. Ros just gave a sharp nod.

“You wanted to see me?” Her hands were clutched together, and it surprised her to find her palms were slick with sweat. Why was standing in the doorway to this little man’s office so frightening? Perhaps it was the fear of losing her job.  
_But this isn’t my job. Not really.  
_ “You did well today.” He admitted, not even glancing up at her.  
“I fell over.” Effie reminded him, not pausing for a second.  
“You got back up. I’m well versed in your history with the Lannisters, and with Gregor Clegane…”  
“So it was all a set up? I thought you weren’t one for abusing staff.” Effie cut in dryly. He did look up at her then; a sharp, reprimanding look that sent a shiver down her spine. “I’ve warned you before about speaking to me with respect.” His voice was as cold as his look.  
“I’m very sorry Mr Baelish. Please forgive my rudeness.” Effie’s response was automatic, but it made his lips twist into a smile.  
“Better. I trust you got an earful for Mr Bolton?” Confusion ghosted across her face momentarily. Then she cracked her own twisted smile. “Of course. You knew.” Did Roose truly think _he_ could outsmart Littlefinger?  
“Indeed. It was an interesting meeting, wouldn’t you agree? It seems the reign of the Lannisters is almost at an end.” Baelish chuckled.  
“I should hope not.” Effie quipped, still smiling.  
“And why is that?”  
“Because that would mean you would have to fail, and that would be bad for business.” She shrugged nonchalantly.  
“And why should you care about that?” Effie could feel his gaze on her; studying her. She couldn’t help but wonder what she looked like through his eyes. Did he still see her as a whore? Or did he see her as a replacement of sorts for the girl he never had? Effie somewhat doubted that, but he certainly regarded her with less disdain than he had done before.  
“Because if this firm goes under, we all go with it. And I quite like this new field of work I’m in. It’s much more mentally challenging than the last one. I like that.”  
“Mentally challenging?” Petyr snorted. “You’re only an assistant.”   
“For now.” Effie smirked. That made him pause, and he cocked his head an inch to the right. “It seems your time with the Greyjoys has had some…benefits, Miss Snow.” His eyes glinted curiously.  
“They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” She arched a brow.  
“Hm.” He looked her up and down once more before returning to his work. “Inform Mr Bolton that I am organising a fundraiser soon. All my clients are expected to attend. The rich do love to pretend they are the generous sort.” He chuckled again, shaking his head. “That will be all, Miss Snow.”   
Effie turned to leave, but paused for a moment, smiling to herself. She wasn’t just some carrier pigeon to send messages and spy.  
“One more thing,” Turning back around, Effie continued to smile and mirrored his cold gaze. “I’ve been looking over the weekly reports. There’s been a mistake with the emerging market numbers. They haven’t been updated, and they don’t reflect the returns at all. If you’re not careful, your clients will think you’re trying to hide something.”  
Perhaps for the first time since she’d known him, Effie glimpsed uncertainty on Mr Baelish’s face. He abandoned his current work and pulled out the weekly reports from a file beneath his desk. As he frowned down at the figures, Effie waited. “Shit.” She heard him mutter under his breath. Snapping the folder shut, he threw it in her general direction. “Has that gone out yet?” He asked her.  
“They’re being printed today.”  
“Then stop them. Find the person that fucked up and tell them they’re fired.” He ordered, the twitch of his lip betraying the rage he felt.  
“Yes Mr Baelish.” She was somewhat exulted at the thought of getting to fire someone. There was no thanks. Not a murmur of gratitude. But Effie wanted none. Not from him.


	79. Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found the Devil  
> I found him in a lover  
> And his lips like tangerines  
> And his color coded speak

“So Effie, how is your new job going?” It always surprised her when Walda actually managed to squeak up. There was something about the nervousness in her voice that always made her want to laugh, and by glancing at Ramsay she could tell she wasn’t the only one.  
“It’s good actually. I’m really enjoying it.” Effie admitted.  
“What? You actually _like_ going to get coffee for people?” Ramsay snorted. “If we’d have known we could have given you Myranda’s job.”  
“It’s more than that actually.” Effie argued, though she made the retort light-hearted. “I got to fire someone today.” Ramsay looked slightly more impressed by that.  
“How come?” Domeric asked, knowing she couldn’t ignore him if everyone else was there.  
“Someone fucked up the weekly reports. I noticed it and informed Mr Baelish just before they were printed.” Effie glanced over to Roose, who appeared disinterested. She had told him everything he wanted to know. Whether or not she was progressing was irrelevant. “Also, Mr Baelish told me to inform you, Mr Bolton, that there is to be a fundraiser soon. He has extended an invitation to all his clients.” The conversation paused as Myranda entered with their food.  
Pork. Again. How curious.  
“I’m not one for those charitable occasions.” Roose replied, extinguishing the excited look in Walda’s eyes.  
“It would appear rude if no one were to attend. And it would be good to check out the competition. A lot of the other investors will be there, the Lannisters included. If they can sell their mules to afford clothing fit for the occasion.” Effie smirked, earning Roose’s attention.  
“The Lannister’s are going under?” Domeric asked, shocked.  
“Very well. You may go to the fundraiser, Effie. You always did do well at social occasions.” Effie smiled proudly. “And you’ll escort her.” To Effie’s shock, he was talking to Ramsay.  
“What?” Ramsay almost choked on a bit of broccoli.  
“You’ll attend the fundraiser with your sister, as my representative.” Roose said dismissively. But Ramsay wasn’t done.  
“Dad I’m shit at those things! I always look scruffy. No one likes me. No one talks to me. And I hate champagne.” Her brother’s look was thunderous. Roose seemed somewhat amused by that. “Send Domeric instead. He does fuck all else.” Ramsay snapped.  
“That’s not true!” Domeric argued.  
“Well what do you do then? Because it sure isn’t work! Too much of a pussy to join in the family business.” Ramsay snarled back. Effie observed them both. They were like two lions ready to pounce on one another.  
“That’s enough. Both of you.” Roose barely raised his voice, yet their hackles lowered. The only hint that any anger remained was Reek’s incessant trembling.  
“Please father.” Ramsay said, his tone respectful. “What will Reek do without me?”  
“Stay in his room.” Roose retorted before resuming his meal. Her brother slumped in his seat, defeated, and began stabbing at the meat.   
“Pork. Again. Why is it always pork?” Ramsay grumbled, skewering it with his fork and holding it up to inspect the pink meat.  
“Isn’t it obvious?” Effie asked, picking up her wine glass. With a condescending smile to Ramsay, she turned and looked at Walda. “Congratulations.” She gushed, raising her glass a little. The table fell silent as everyone but Roose and Effie stared at Walda in shock.

He was late. Effie was already stood in the hallway with Domeric, stinking of class. Ramsay couldn’t help but smirk at that, remembering the shitty little estate they had grown up on.   
Not an essence of that place remained on her tonight though. The black dress she wore shimmered in the light, and clung to her slim frame, though she had developed more curves since the last time he’d checked. On her feet, she wore a pair of red heels that made him wince just by looking at them. Her hair was done up in a fancy fashion, and her makeup was simple but elegant. She no longer possessed the fragile beauty she’d had when she was younger. It seemed to have been abandoned once she’d started that new job. In its place was a more graceful form of beauty. If Damon could see her now, he would have kicked himself for letting her go. She looked like a proper business woman.  
_It’s just pretend. She’s working for father. Once that’s over, it’ll all go back to normal._  
“You look smart.” She looked him up and down, smiling politely all the while. The compliment made him uncomfortable. Unsure what to say, Ramsay held out the tie he’d scrunched up in his fist. “Reek couldn’t do it, what with the missing fingers and all.” He smirked. To his surprise, his sister laughed. Even Domeric looked shocked. Effie had resorted to ignoring Reek’s existence, something Ramsay hated. He wanted everyone to see what he could do.   
Ramsay tried not to show his discomfort as Effie turned up his collar. He was even more irritated once he noticed that her heels meant she was now a good few inches taller than him.  
“Dress is a bit tight isn’t it?” He pointed out. Effie just laughed again. “Believe me, most of the people that matter at this party have already seen everything they’ve wanted to see.” His lip twitched, and he avoided her gaze. It made him feel sick. Somehow, Effie just carried on smiling.   
“Well look at you two!” Ramsay groaned internally at Walda’s excited squeal. Effie also showed mutual disdain by rolling her eyes. “Let’s take a picture!” Walda decided, pulling out her phone.  
“It’s a fundraiser, not prom.” Ramsay practically growled. He was in no mood to play nice with her at the moment. Not since they’d found out about the baby.  
“Come on Rams, when was the last time we had a photo together?” Effie chuckled, slipping an arm around his waist and posing. He did as he was bid, but made no attempt to smile.  
“Domeric, get in the picture as well.” Walda commanded. As if it could’ve gotten any worse.  
“I thought it was just a picture of me with my brother?” Effie asked coldly, her voice flat and emotionless. She didn’t so much as glance at Domeric, which was a shame as she missed seeing his broken-hearted expression. Ramsay didn’t miss it though, and smirked at his apparent misery.  
“Anyway, we’re going to be late.” Effie broke away from them and slipped on her coat. Relieved to finally be leaving, Ramsay swooped up his car keys and followed his sister to the door. “We’re taking my car.” His sister told him. Ramsay frowned. “You don’t have a car.” He reminded her. Effie just smiled and carried on walking.   
Sure enough, a sleek Rolls Royce awaited them on the driveway, with a chauffeur stood by the door to the backseats.  
“Evening Olyvar.” Effie smiled pleasantly at the young man, who promptly opened the door to allow her inside.  
“You look ravishing, Miss Snow.” Olyvar replied. “And this must be your brother.” Ramsay shifted uncomfortably as the chauffeur looked him up and down.  
“Yes. I’m afraid he’s got a boyfriend already.” Effie said bluntly. Olyvar sighed heavily. “They always do.” Ramsay heard him mutter.   
Curling his hand into a tight fist, Ramsay stormed past the chauffeur and threw himself into the seat beside his sister. “Reek’s not my boyfriend.” He argued through gritted teeth.  
“I’ll leave you to explain exactly what he is then.” Effie hissed back, her pleasant demeanour gone momentarily.

It had been a long time since Effie had last attended one of these social gatherings, and it seemed different from how she remembered them. Perhaps it was due to the fact she wasn’t there simply just to sleep with someone. She felt more in control; as though she owned the room and everyone in it. As they both entered, people turned and stared. Conversations stopped. Many there hadn’t seen her since before she’d tried to kill herself. Ignoring their astonished stares, Effie helped herself to a glass of champagne, and continued to ease around the room. Her cheeks ached from smiling, and the heels hurt her feet, but the pain didn’t matter. She was working.  
“Good evening Effie.” Her attention was drawn downwards at the sound of Tyrion’s voice.  
“And to you Tyrion.” She replied.   
“You look beautiful, though your escort could do with more accessorising. Perhaps a smile might do him wonders.” They both turned and laughed at Ramsay, who looked like a sheep amongst goats.  
“My brother is not one for charitable occasions, but Mr Bolton insisted.” Effie chuckled.  
“Well, if Mr Bolton insisted, I’m sure he had no other choice.” Tyrion said, still staring at Ramsay.  
“Here’s your drink, Mr Lannister.” Effie’s smile faltered at the sound of Podrick’s tremulous voice.  
“Ah, thank you Podrick! You remember Effie Snow, don’t you?” Probably for the first time that evening, Podrick looked up from his shoes. His eyes widened in shock at the sight of her, and his mouth gaped open.  
“Hello Podrick.” Effie said softly.  
“Effie? I thought you…I didn’t know you were…”  
“Alive? You and most of this party.” Effie laughed.  
“Well you look…it’s good to see you.” Podrick averted his eyes downwards again as he stumbled over his words.  
“It’s good to see you too. Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll go save my brother before he ends up killing someone.” Glancing at Tyrion, she could tell by the fallen facial expression that he knew what the Bolton’s did. It had been a cunning choice of words, and Effie smirked to herself as she approached her brother.  
“I thought you hated champagne?” She asked as he knocked one back.  
“I do.” He said, grimacing and placing the glass on a passing waiter’s tray.  
“So why you fucking drinking it then?” He was ruining her little pretend world, like he always used to.  
“Because it’s free.” Ramsay shrugged, grabbing another.  
“You better not get drunk. Mr Bolton would not be best pleased if I had to tell him that you had to be escorted out.” Effie hoped the fear of what his father might do would stop him, but Ramsay just smiled. He knew full well this new world made her happy, and he knew full well he was ruining it for her. There would be no stopping him until she begged and pleaded and bargained, and swore she was his.  
“You’re one to talk. Suppose we better leave soon then, before the champagne goes to my head.” He grinned cruelly.  
“Yes. Alcohol loosens lips. We wouldn’t want anyone finding out about your little pet now would we? That could get you in quite a bit of trouble wouldn’t it? Mr Bolton would probably have to dispose of him before he caused too much of a stir.”  
The grin fell away instantly, revealing the monster underneath. His claws dug into her arm, hard enough to bruise, as he growled something at her. But Effie felt neither the pain, nor did she hear his threat. Her eyes were drawn to a large figure across the room, stood near a side exit. When their gazes met, he inclined his head towards the exit.  
“Shit.” Effie breathed.  
“You better be fucking listening.” She heard her brother snarl.  
“What? Yeah yeah, I owe you my life, got it. Do you mind? I need to go to the toilet.” Moving away from him, Effie threaded through the crowd, aiming for the toilets until she was certain her brother was no longer watching her, before circling the perimeter of the room until she reached the exit. The outside air was bitingly cold, and Effie crossed her arms in an attempt to fight the chill off. The exit had led her to an alleyway, just large enough for a car to fit through were it not for the bins that lined the walls.  
The only sign of life was a car at the end of the alley to her left, its engine still running. That was where Effie headed, checking over her shoulder in case anyone had followed her outside. She only managed to glimpse the shadow before it pounced on her, and pushed her up against the wall, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.   
“Missed me sweetheart?” Euron purred, blue lips stretching into a wicked smile.  
“You have no idea.” Effie laughed, before pulling him into a hungry, savage kiss.


	80. Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the crooks are out   
> And the streets are gray   
> You know I wouldn't have it   
> Any other way

Euron broke the kiss once they were both out of breath. “You didn’t see me coming.” He scolded. When she tried to pull him back into the kiss again, he caught her hand and twisted it. Hard.  
“I’ve been out of practise.” Effie hissed through gritted teeth, trying not to let the pain show. He was mad at her. “Been busy.” She added, ripping her hand from his grasp.  
“Yes. Busy not doing what I commanded you to.” He growled, pushing her further against the wall. Effie pushed him back, wanting her space. “I still have it in me to kick the shit out of you. And you didn’t _command_ me to do anything. We made an agreement, remember?” For a moment, she thought he might hit her, but he refrained. He always did.  
“So what have you been doing?” He asked. “Your vague texts do little to tell me anything.”   
“I can’t text you too much information. Someone might see.” Effie admitted.  
“Fine. Tell me now then.” He was quickly running out of patience, and Effie hadn’t felt so threatened by him before.  
“We don’t have much time for explanations. Ramsay’s in there. He could come looking.”   
“Good. Then I can kill the little prick, like I should have done last time.” Euron smirked.  
“Instead you put a pointless bullet in a girl’s skull. Shit happens. But we agreed, Ramsay lives. The rest die.” Effie reminded him, extinguishing the excited look in Euron’s eye. “He’s done some marvellous work on Theon. You’d find it quite fascinating.” Effie chuckled, smiling wickedly.  
“Like you said, the rest die.” Euron grimaced. “And soon, you’ve had more than enough time.”  
“What’s the rush?” Effie chuckled, attempting to pull him towards her again.  
“I’ll give you one.” Effie frowned as Euron pulled out his phone. When he showed her the screen, her heart stopped beating momentarily. “Recognise him do we?” She barely heard him, her focus being on the picture of Damon. By the grey uniform, it was clear he was back in prison. Before she could say anything, Euron swiped the screen so that another picture took its place. This time it was Jamie walking along with his friends to school.  
“What do you want with them?” Effie growled. “They haven’t done anything.”  
“I want you to choose which one I kill.” Euron grinned meanly, and Effie could feel her heart hammering in her chest. If he was trying to scare her, it wasn’t working. She was too angry to be afraid.  
“You’ll leave them both alone, or I’ll ruin you.” She promised calmly.  
“Ruin me? That would take time. A phone call on the other hand…” Her breath caught in her throat as he began to type a number. “Damon, is it? He could be dead in a second.”  
“Stop it!” Effie snapped, snatching the phone. As soon as she had it, Euron’s hand was around her throat. “Here’s the deal princess. You do what we agreed within a week, or I’ll make you choose who to kill.” He snarled.  
“Fine.” Effie growled back through gritted teeth. Stepping closer, Euron moved his face close to hers and hummed contentedly. “I’d forgotten how hot you were when you’re angry.” He chuckled. Smirking, Effie hooked a leg around him and pulled him in closer. “I’m sure you’ve found other women to keep you company. Or are you growing a little soft?” Slipping an arm around her waist, he held her tightly to him.  
“Definitely not.” He instigated the kiss this time, though they both continued to fight for dominance over one another. Effie had missed this; the competing, the fighting, the bargaining, the sex. She wanted it all again, and she wanted it now. But there was no time.  
“I have to go.” Effie insisted, pulling away. “My darling brother will be missing me, and yours is growing cold in that car down there.” Euron released an exasperated groan, but duly stepped back.  
“Kill them all quickly sweetheart. I can’t stand this for much longer.” He whispered, keeping hold of her arm for a moment before releasing her. Then his face split into a grin. “You need to redo your lipstick. It’s a little smudged.” He laughed, his thumb brushing her lip. Smiling gently, she turned away and headed towards the door without looking back.

Somehow she made it to the toilets unnoticed. Her hands were still shaking as she wiped off the smudged lipstick and attempted to reapply it. In the end, Effie gave up and simply stared at her pale reflection in the mirror. She’d been able to hold back the fear whilst she’d been with him, but being on her own now was all too real. She had to do what they’d agreed, or Damon and Jamie would die. Euron didn’t make idle threats.  
A noise behind her made her startle, and she span around to see Ros staggering out of one of the cubicles. “Fuck.” The woman slurred as her heel twisted. Effie made no move to help her. Eventually she straightened up on her own and hobbled to the sink next to Effie.  
“Found someone then ay?” Ros smiled knowingly at her.  
“What?” Effie gasped, suddenly afraid.  
“Your lipstick’s smudged.” The redhead pointed out.  
“Oh, right.” Effie turned back to the mirror and tried harder to fix her makeup.   
“So who’s the guy then?” Ros probed, staring at her reflection.  
“Just some millionaire.” Effie shrugged. Oddly it was believable enough considering their current surroundings.  
“Well that narrows it down.” Ros snorted. As Effie began to reapply her lipstick, her work companion started looking for something in her bag. “I fucking hate these parties. They really take it out of me.” Ros complained, still digging around. Effie was hardly sparing her any attention, that was until she pulled a small plastic pouch full of white powder out from her bag.  
“Jesus Ros, is that…”  
“The good stuff? Oh yes.” Using a long, well-manicured fingernail, Ros scooped a pile out and threw it up her nose, sniffing to ensure it were all gone. “Want some?” She asked with a cat-like smirk. Effie stared uncertainly at the bag. It wasn’t as if she’d never snorted cocaine before. If anything, she’d done worse than that. She hadn’t done it since she’d been staying with Damon though, and she’d been a different person then. But after seeing Euron, and receiving the threat of what would happen to Damon and Jamie if she took too long, Effie had been left shaken.  
“Sure.” She shrugged, stepping towards Ros. Before she could stick a finger in though, the redhead snatched it away.   
“You can’t tell anyone though. Not even your brother. Otherwise we’re both in for it.” Effie refrained from pointing out that she had worked that out already, instead scooping out a fingernail load and sniffing it up before she lost any of it to the floor.  
There. That was better. Her hands had stopped shaking.  
“Enjoy the party.” Ros winked, rinsing her hands and leaving Effie to stare as her reflection regained colour.

The room was only just starting to spin. Ramsay grimaced into his glass of champagne, mutely blaming it for his lack of drunkenness. Though maybe he just wasn’t in the mood. He wanted to go home, back to his Reek. Cover himself in blood and sweat to wash off the class and pretence. But he couldn’t leave without Effie, and she’d been in the toilets for over half an hour now, though it felt like a lifetime. Maybe she was with someone, she’d been pretty chummy with Tyrion’s assistant. Or maybe she was with Tyrion himself. No, he could see him swaying dangerously on a bar stool, with his assistant beside him.  
So where was she? She wasn’t in the hall, and there was no one notable missing.  
_What if…  
_ Ramsay choked ungraciously on the champagne, making the couple beside him throw a disapproving look. Loosening his collar a little, Ramsay glared at them, though he was simultaneously annoyed by his own foolishness. She’d probably just found someone, or was in a different room trying to escape him. He had been doing his best to embarrass her. And now he was bored, and his mind was running away from him. He needed a drink, a proper one.  
Downing what was left of the piss they called champagne, Ramsay placed it on the nearest flat surface and made a beeline for the bar. As it was a fundraiser, the drinks were ludicrously expensive, but it wasn’t like he was short on cash. The bartender raised a questioning brow when he ordered a pint, but Ramsay ignored it. The bartender’s hair could fly off his head too as far as he was concerned, as long as he got his pint. Once the glass was in front of him, Ramsay continued to shock them all by downing half of it without pausing for breath.  
“I don’t think they’re quite used to that behaviour here.” Frowning at the familiar voice, Ramsay put his glass back down and turned to his right. “But then again, I don’t think you’re quite used to behaving like them either.”  
“Margaery?” The beer suddenly settled uneasily in his stomach.   
“What? Didn’t expect to see me?” Smirking, the brunette popped up onto the stool next to him. Her dress was a light blue; floor-length, but with a dangerously low neckline. Ramsay tried not to stare.  
“I’ve been released on good-behaviour.” She explained, despite not having been asked. Ramsay turned back to his drink, trying to show that he wasn’t interested in what she had to say. Whether or not Margaery noticed was another matter.  
“Can I get a Bloody Mary please?” She asked the bartender pleasantly. He served her far more readily than he had Ramsay, but then Ramsay lacked the grace and the cleavage. “I’d forgotten how dull these parties were.” She sighed. Ramsay couldn’t help but nod his agreement. “So what are _you_ doing here then?” She asked him. Glancing around, he glimpsed no sign of his sister. He might as well play with Margaery while he waited.  
“Father’s orders.” He shrugged, turning back towards her slightly. “What about you?”  
“Same. Well, sort of. Mr Baelish manages father’s assets, and we’ve been doing so well recently that father has spared the money to start me off on my own little venture. People were starting to wonder why he was locking all us women up. It doesn’t do to have whispers going around.” Margaery laughed. Forcing himself to chuckle, Ramsay studied the sugary expression. It was just icing on a cake. There was something going on beneath it. Ramsay just hoped it was as dense as it looked.  
“Right. So what’s your new venture?” He probed, eyes narrowing.  
“I’ve started my own magazine.” Of course. It was bound to be something air headed. “It’ll be a political provocateur magazine, you know, I want to make people think. I want to make people question _everything._ ” Her brown eyes were full of determination. So Ramsay laughed at her. “Good luck getting these people to think.” He laughed, taking another deep drink of his beer.   
“These people. Seeing is believing. They need evidence. Proof. Everyone loves a scandal, but they don’t want to be so common as to jump to conclusions.” She said coolly.  
“Right.” Ramsay snorted, rolling his eyes dismissively. “So what’s going to be your first big article? If it’s interesting enough, I might read it. Go on, make me think.” He urged her, his eyes challenging. He was enjoying this. She seemed to think she was winning. This empty-headed…  
“You.” Margaery said coolly. “My first article will be on you, or your sister, anyways. But you’re pretty much the same. You’ll put the words into her mouth, like you always have.” Ramsay glanced over his shoulder, suddenly worried someone might overhear. “I bet some people at this party have got quite a few things to say about her, none more interesting than Effie herself. Where is she? Is she with someone now?”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He snapped, panicking.  
“Yes you do. Don’t try to deny it. I read her diary.” Margaery was leant forward in her chair, relishing every second. Ramsay wanted to snap her pretty neck.  
“What diary?” He growled.  
“The one Barbrey has. The one Effie wrote.” His breath caught in his throat as he recalled the black notebook he’d picked up that time he’d visited Effie at Barrowton. And he remembered what he’d read too.   
“Listen here, you little bitch. You’ve got nothing on us, hear me? No one is going to tell you anything. You aren’t even anyone worth telling.” He moved in closer, his lips splitting into a cruel grin as he caught her wrist in a grip so tight Margaery winced. “And even if you do, I’m sure my sister can find more of that special stuff that your girlfriend loved so much.” He purred into her ear. Before he pulled away, Ramsay paused to sniff her hair; imagining what it would be like to watch her die.  
To his surprise, once he did release her, he found that Margaery was smiling.  
“It was you that killed Sansa.” She choked tearfully. Remaining unperturbed, Ramsay picked up his beer. “And what makes you think that?” He chuckled, taking an anxious sip.  
“I’ve got three brothers. We might not always get along, but not one of them would _ever_ accuse me of murder.” Over her shoulder, Ramsay glimpsed Effie threading through the crowd towards them.  
“That’s hardly evidence.” He argued through gritted teeth.  
“It wasn’t meant to be. I just wanted you to know.” Margaery smirked.  
“Why?”  
“Because it wasn’t you that told me.” She shrugged. Picking up her drink, she went to walk away but couldn’t help but stop for one last warning. “I’d make that your last drink of the evening Ramsay. You might want to keep a clearer head from now on.”


	81. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got me surrounded,  
> It feels like I'm drowning and I don't want to come up for air.  
> I lost everything, I threw myself in and you took me when no one was there.

He was still watching her go when Effie reached him; confusion and fear ruining any chance of there being an intelligent thought in his head.  
“Having fun yet?” His sister giggled girlishly; smiling too much as she threw herself onto the bar stool beside him. “Can I have a Jack Daniels please, with ice?” Ramsay watched her order, his mind still winding through the crowd with Margaery.  
“That last drink, then we’re leaving.” He growled, suddenly scanning the crowd, trying to sniff out danger.  
“Don’t be stupid!” Effie laughed back at him, taking a sip of her drink. “I want to have fun. Come on, let’s go bully some rich people!” Grabbing his wrist, Ramsay was shocked to find out she was able to pull him from his seat with ease.   
“No, Eff, you don’t get it. We have to go, _now_.” He hissed at her, pulling back. Stepping towards him, Effie leaned forward so they wouldn’t be overheard. “You know, don’t you?” She asked, her voice a hushed whisper. “You know he’s coming for you.” Her eyes were wide with shock.  
“Eff? What are you on about? What do you know?” How could she know? It wasn’t possible. He’d tried so hard to keep her out of it all.  
“He’s coming for us both, and it’s all my fault.” Suddenly her bottom lip was trembling, and she was clearly on the verge of tears.  
“Eff tell me what you know!” He yelled at her, grabbing her and shaking her violently. People turned and stared at them, but Ramsay didn’t care. Suddenly, his sister’s face split into a shit-eating grin that he would have gladly smacked off. “The loo king. I stole his toilet.” She joked.  
“Fuck you.” He spat, shoving her roughly.   
“Fuck you right back.” Effie retorted, also shoving him. She’d said it loudly, and more people were staring at them now, though his sister hardly seemed to notice. “Fuck you and your orders, and always telling me what to do. Well I don’t work for you anymore, so fuck yourself right up the arse with a bread knife.” Close by, someone chuckled. Ramsay might have laughed too were they both not there on father’s orders.  
“Alright Eff, that’s enough.” Ramsay muttered, grabbing her arm to try and drag her out.  
“No! No, it’s not enough! It’s never enough, don’t you get it? And it won’t be enough, until only one of us is left standing.” She was growing panicked; he could see tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.  
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean Eff?” Still looking around nervously, Ramsay pulled her over to a shadowed corner. “What does it mean?” He repeated; hissing threateningly through gritted teeth.  
“One day you’ll know.” His sister was giggling again now; an uncontrollable maddened laugh. Unthinkingly, Ramsay pushed her into the wall behind so that she hit her head with a sickening crack.  
“You’ve taken something.” He realised, studying her wandering eyes. “What the fuck are you on? I should have fucking known. Was it this job? Or have you been using since Damon’s? That would make sense.” Following the bang to the head, his sister was in no fit state to answer. “Fuck sake.” Ramsay breathed, wandering how they were going to make it out past all these people while his sister was only half-conscious.   

The night air was cold, but it seemed to wake Effie up a bit as they waited for their car to be brought up from the parking lot. Ramsay allowed his sister to lean her full weight on him; slipping his arms around her in an attempt to keep her warm and upright. “I don’t want to go back.” He heard her mumble into his jacket. Her fingers tightened on the fabric, and he frowned when it occurred to him that she was holding on to him just as tightly as he was her.  
“Shouldn’t have gotten so fucked then should you?” Ramsay chuckled. His little sister just groaned, and her head lolled onto his shoulder sleepily. Spotting Olyvar in his car just turning the corner, Ramsay got ready to go, and take his sister far from this party and Margaery fucking Tyrell.  
“Effie?” Momentarily panicking, Ramsay whipped around, steadying his sister as he did so. It was only Tyrion’s assistant; the boy who hardly ever seemed to look up from his shoes. “Is she okay?” He asked; eyes still trained towards the concrete.  
“Podrick!” Effie smiled drunkenly and pulled out of Ramsay’s embrace, throwing her arms around the startled boy’s neck. Keeping an arm around his shoulders, Effie turned back to Ramsay. “This is Podrick. I like Podrick.” She grinned goofily. “And Podrick loves me, don’t you Pod?” The boy turned bright red, but mumbled an affirmative. “He loves me, and he’s never even asked anything of me. Some people can do that you know.” Suddenly Effie wasn’t quite so light-hearted. Her lip was curled into a feral snarl.  
“Eff, come on. The car’s here.” Ramsay said, his voice low in warning.  
“Podrick knows what I was too. He knows what you made me be.” Ramsay glanced at the boy who was still staring at his feet. In a flash, he grabbed his sister and dragged her back to him.  
“Get off me!” Effie yelled.  
“Get in the fucking car.” Ramsay growled back, not waiting for Olyvar to jump out and help. He pushed his sister in and slammed the door on her himself before approaching Podrick so menacingly he thought the kid might piss himself. “You didn’t see or hear shit. Got it kid?” He snarled.   
“Y-yes sir.” He stammered, backing away as fast as he could. Ramsay recalled the boy Effie had been friends with before. That Jojen kid he’d hit and run. Smirking at the memory of those wide-eyes caught in the headlights, Ramsay turned and got into the backseat of the car. Effie was curled up small on her side; hugging her legs, having discarded her heels on the floor.   
“You alright?” He asked, trying to sound gentle. It had been a long time since he’d seen her looking so vulnerable. When she looked up at him, he could see her makeup had run from where she was crying. Sniffing, Effie wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  
“I’m sorry.” She whispered.  
“Good.” He replied curtly, staring out of the window as they started to move.  
“No Ramsay, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” And suddenly she was right beside him; her head resting on his shoulder. Ramsay was too shocked to say anything for a moment. _It’s the drugs._  
“It’s alright Eff. It’ll be okay.” He muttered, figuring he should at least attempt to offer some form of comfort. Effie grabbed his arm and held it tight. “Don’t talk. Please.” He heard her say faintly. Moments later, she slumped down until her head was resting in his lap and began to whimper in her sleep softly. Sighing, Ramsay pulled out his phone and called his father.  
“What is it Ramsay?” He wondered if his father ever said hello to anyone when he picked up the phone.  
“The Tyrell girl, Margaery, she knows something.” Ramsay got straight to the point, eyeing Olyvar all the while for any reaction.  
“I’m sure she knows a great many things.” He heard his father sigh, clearly bored.  
“No, something about the others. About the Starks.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. There was silence on the other end for a long while, and though Ramsay grew impatient, he allowed his father time to think.  
“Are you on your way home?”  
“Yeah, we’re in the car now.” Ramsay glanced down at Effie sleeping soundly in his lap.  
“Good. Come see me as soon as you get home.” His father ordered.  
“I’ll have to put Eff to bed first, she’s completely out of…” Before he could finish, his father hung up on him. Ramsay glared at his phone before shoving it back into his jacket pocket.   
Perhaps having Reek had made it instinctive, but he began to comb his fingers through Effie’s sleek, soft hair. It wasn’t matted like Reek’s, but he found it calming all the same. “Don’t ever grow up Eff.” He mumbled, staring down at her. She looked more like the Effie he used to know, asleep in his lap. “It’s shit.”

She was still out of it by the time they got home, so Ramsay carried her from the car and into the house. It was dark inside, with no sign of movement. Trying his best to be stealthy, despite the extra weight, Ramsay crept up the stairs. Only to be stopped by Domeric on Effie’s floor.  
“What are you doing here?” He hissed.  
“Just going to dad’s office. Said there was a meeting.” Domeric replied flatly.  
“Since when did you go to meetings?” Ramsay asked, his eyes narrowing.  
“What’s up with her?” Domeric swerved the question, inclining his head towards Effie.  
“Took some coke. Seems that rehab you tried on her didn’t work.” Ramsay smirked before pushing past his brother and heading towards Effie’s bedroom. Even when he set her down on the bed, she didn’t stir. She was dead to the world.  
Ramsay smiled to himself, enjoying how she had to rely on him to take care of her, like he always had. He removed her dress before quickly covering her with the duvet. Once she was tucked in, he sat on the bed and watched her for a moment. She’d always whimpered in her sleep, but it seemed more fitful now. Perhaps it was the coke. “Night Eff.” He whispered, leaning forward and kissing her forehead gently. Standing, he tiptoed from the room. Once outside, he paused. He longed to see his Reek. He hated being away from his pet for so long. But father had ordered a meeting, and Domeric was already there so he headed down the stairs to his father’s study, knocking and waiting until Roose’s cold tones pierced through the oak.   
“I trust you behaved well enough at the fundraiser?” His father asked before even looking at him.  
“Well I didn’t kill anyone, though it came dangerously close.” Ramsay smirked, throwing himself down onto the leather sofa; as far from Domeric as possible.  
“Good. Now, tell me about Margaery Tyrell.” Roose did look at him then; linking his fingers and resting them on the desk.  
“Well she’s out of the loony bin for starters. The Tyrell’s stocks have been doing well, so her father’s been able to fund a venture for her. She wants to start up a political magazine thing. Then she said Eff would be her first article. She knows what Effie used to do.” Ramsay curled his hand into a fist.  
“Yes, yes. And what about the Starks?” Roose said, discarding the threat to his sister. Though Ramsay couldn’t blame him. There was hardly room to think about anything but the two missing Starks, and the fact they had no idea who was helping them.  
“She knows I killed Sansa.” Ramsay was very much aware of Domeric’s eyes on him. “Someone told her.” Turning, Ramsay glared accusingly at Domeric.  
“What? You think I told her?” Domeric almost laughed.  
“Well besides father and Damon, you’re the only one that knows.” Ramsay shot venomously.  
“Why on Earth would I tell Margaery Tyrell? I don’t even know the girl. Why would I speak to her?” Ramsay just turned back to his father, still unconvinced. Though why Domeric would help out the enemy he had no idea.  
“She needs to be dealt with.” Roose informed flatly. Ramsay required no further instruction.  
“Just give me a weapon and it’s as good as done.” He replied, a grin stretching across his face.


	82. Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I watch you like a hawk  
> I watch you like I'm gonna tear you limb from limb  
> Will the hunger ever stop?  
> Can we simply starve this sin?

Effie had had worse come downs, but it was hard to recall any of them when she awoke the next day. With a groan, she forced herself to throw off the covers and stand up. Her legs ached from the heels she had been wearing, and light bruises had bloomed on her arms from where Ramsay had grabbed her. Inspecting the darkened flesh, Effie pressed the pads of her fingers over them hard enough to make her hiss in pain. It made her hate them more. It reminded her of why she had made the agreement in the first place.  
She hated him.  
She didn’t need Euron’s threats.  
Even so, her brain seemed scattered. There were so many fears, so many worries. How could she do this? She’d hardly even thought of a plan. In need of clearing her mind, Effie headed over to her wardrobe; stripping off her underwear as she went. It must have been Ramsay that undressed her. The thought of him touching her while she was out of it made her skin crawl. Sick bastard. Shuddering, Effie tried to shake the memory from her mind as she pulled out her old running clothes. She’d always found that running helped to clear her head. Her tired body could complain all it liked, she needed to get out of the house.

Five minutes later, she was racing through the woods at the far end of the Bolton estate; heart pounding, legs burning. There was nothing but the path ahead of her, the smell of sodden earth, and the sound of her own laboured breathing. But in her mind she was far away, planning. Imagining the various possible scenarios. The faster she ran, the bloodier they became. Or perhaps it was the other way around; perhaps she was running from her own thoughts.  
_I can’t kill monsters without becoming one._  
The cold bit at her cheeks from where the wind struck her tears. She ran from them too; trying desperately hard to leave her emotions far behind. But they ran beside her, almost over-taking her; crashing through the undergrowth, snarling and snapping at her heels.  
It wasn’t until a set of teeth sank into her ankle that she realised her pursuers weren’t her emotions. Crying out, she hit the dirt face first, screaming in pain from where the dog had bitten into her ankle. Her screams were drowned by angry barking, and more of the beasts appeared from the bushes, seeming to surround her.  
“Easy girls, easy.” Effie’s blood ran cold at the voice, and she snarled as Locke appeared amongst the trees. “My girls have been eager for a hunt for some time.” He sneered down at her.  
“Probably should train them to catch rabbits. There’s a lot of them around here. You’ve been slacking.” Hissing at the pain in her ankle, Effie tried her best to lift herself up. But the dogs were on her instantly; snapping at her face and suffocating her with their stinking breath. One placed its paws on her chest, pinning her back down.  
“I’d stay still if I were you.” Locke leered, looking at her the same way he had when he’d locked her in the garage with him. It made Effie’s blood boil. As he moved closer, her lip curled instinctively and a growl trembled deep in her throat. “And I’d do the same.” She glared up at him threateningly, refusing to flinch as one of the dogs grazed her cheek with its teeth.  
“Why?” He laughed at her. “What are you going to do?” There was only time for him to glance her smile before she freed the penknife from her sports bra and flicked it open. Gritting her teeth, she drove it into the neck of the dog on top of her. As the blood sprayed across her face and chest, the dog yelped and whined in pain before slumping its great weight on top of her. Pushing it off, she kicked the next one in the face before plunging the knife through its eye. There were two more, and they leapt at her simultaneously; knowing she was a threat. Before they reached her, Effie leapt up as high as she could, somehow managing to grab a hold of a branch and swinging herself up until she hung upside down; her legs hooked over the branch.  
“The fuck you doing to my dogs?” Locke roared at her. Grinning madly at him, Effie waited a moment to ready herself before whistling, gaining the savage attention of the dogs below. One of them leapt; jaws open and ready for her hand. But before he could close them around her wrist, the knife speared through its head and out the back of its skull. There it got stuck, and as the dog’s body stilled and slumped, the weight of it at the end of her arm made the branch bend alarmingly. When she heard the wood crack and split, her stomach lurched. Releasing the blade, she hoisted herself upright just in time as the branch gave way. Her ankle twisted upon landing, but there was no time to think of the pain as the final dog leapt at her. Releasing a feral snarl, Effie met the beast mid-air and wrapped an arm about its throat. She landed on her back, her arm fastened tight as the dog writhed and yelped on top of her. Effie continued to growl until the dog ceased struggling. She had been expecting Locke to step in, to stop her. But once the dog was off her and she actually caught sight of his face, she realised why he hadn’t intervened. The blood had drained from Locke’s face, and his wide eyes stared at her in shock. Shoving the dog off of her, Effie stood up and smiled, doing her best to ignore the pain in her bloody, twisted ankle. “Didn’t think I’d wander onto the estate without a penknife did you?” She snorted. “Or did you think I enjoyed it the last time you raped me?”  
“You little bitch. You’re no…no…”  
“Innocent? Clever one you are.” Effie laughed heartily that time.   
“You killed my dogs.” Locke growled.  
“Yet another mind-blowing observation.” She was prodding at him; provoking him to lunge first. Like one of his savage dogs, he took the bait in the blink of an eye. As he lunged for her, Effie ducked down and swiped her leg around, hissing with pain as hers struck his with bone-shaking force. It worked though. Locke landed face down in the dirt; groaning like the old man he was. “So you really want to try this do you?” Standing, she pushed him over with her foot. “I’m your worst fucking nightmare, just like you were mine.”  
“You lying bitch.” He snarled, spitting out dirt.  
“I never lied. I just refrained from telling the truth.” When Locke looked as though he were preparing himself to launch another attack, Effie stamped on his stomach, making him wheeze in pain. “Now, what to do with you. Can’t have you running around telling everyone my little secret.” Picking up a stick, Effie held it up and inspected its strength. “So I suppose I’ll just have to kill you.” Locke’s eyes widened.  
“You don’t have it in you. You think scrapping with some bitches makes you a killer?” He chuckled. Effie arched a brow. “Do you think you’re my first? You certainly won’t be the last.” Stepping over him, Effie kneeled down; pinning his hands beneath her knees and grinding them down into the dirt. “I suppose I owe you a little truth. This isn’t how I wanted things to end between us Locke. In my mind, you die on your front, with your bare arse in the air and a knife shoved up your asshole. I wanted you to know what it was like to have something unwanted and painful inside you before you died. I wanted to humiliate you, like you did me. But that would be a little too obvious, and I have work to do before they realise what I am. I suppose just knowing that you were beaten by a dumb whore will have to be enough.” Before Locke could say anything, Effie pressed the stick against his neck; watching as the flesh gave way and flattened beneath it. Trapped blood made his face turn a burnt red as he gasped for air; using his body to try and fight her off. But Effie was well practised. She watched as tears filled his hawk-like eyes. She’d hated those eyes since she was fourteen, and breathed a sigh of relief as they glazed over. Even when he’d ceased struggling, Effie kept the stick across his throat as her breathing steadied and her mind cleared. It was when she had calmed, and the killer inside her had retreated, that she noticed the blood that covered her arms and body. No doubt it was on her face too. The path was a scene of bloody massacre; the bodies of the dogs strewn about here and there with their master in the middle.  
She’d been stupid. She’d gotten carried away. Would they notice Locke’s absence? How long would it take them to notice? She started to panic, trying to recall the last time she’d noticed someone from inside the house talking to Locke. Ramsay liked the dogs, she knew, but she couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually gone to see them.   
It took her a moment to realise she was hyperventilating; her breath catching in her throat with every gasp until the only sounds she made were hiccupping sobs. Locke wasn’t the first man she’d killed, but she’d never killed without Euron by her side before. And without Euron, it was too real. Now there was no going back. They’d find Locke eventually, and she had to make her move before that happened. They’d figure it out otherwise, and the element of surprise was the only weapon she possessed that the Bolton’s couldn’t beat for sure. Roose thought her too stupid. Ramsay saw her as just his little sister. Walda was oblivious to everything. And Domeric…he’d always seemed to get her. To know what she was thinking.  
But he was a Bolton. He saw her as a fragile girl, who he needed to take care of. He’d never know…he’d never even think…  
Effie slapped herself sharply, bringing herself back to the present. Firstly, she’d have to hide the bodies. It didn’t matter if they were hid well or not, just so long as they were out of sight. The Boltons would hardly be expecting an attack on their own estate, and it would be a while before they actually thought to _look_ for Locke. She had never seen him inside the house, so he never reported to Mr Bolton, and she’d never seen Roose go outside to see him either.  
_What if he calls him or texts him?_  
With that thought in mind, Effie began to search Locke’s pockets and found an old flip phone. Locke didn’t seem to be the smartphone type, and fortunately the phone didn’t need a passcode. Shoving it into her sports bra, Effie returned her attention to dealing with the bodies. Locke was the lightest of them, and it made her cringe to think that there had been a time where this man had overpowered her. She’d been so weak, in mind and body. Though in truth, she’d hardly thought. She just laid down and took it, like she always had. Pathetic. Dumping his body and hiding him amongst the undergrowth felt like she was burying her weakness too.

No one noticed Locke’s absence. That evening, she checked Locke’s phone and found text messages to Roose. Just trivial things, like how the hedge along the western boundary needed trimming, and that he’d see to it. Roose never replied, but Effie sent a message anyway; telling Roose that a part of the wall at the furthest edge of the Bolton estate had crumbled away, and that he’d spend tomorrow fixing it. That meant Roose wouldn’t make anything of not seeing Locke tomorrow while she was at work. Even with that knowledge, Effie struggled to sleep. She lay awake in her bed; replaying the moment Locke’s hawk-like eyes glazed over, and the life was choked from him. Effie clung to how she had felt in that moment, because after that there was nothing. Just nothingness. It hadn’t felt like that with Euron, and that was what she liked about him. Euron was a leader; almost god-like to most. Those that followed him were fanatics. He made them kill, and they enjoyed it.  
_And I’m one of them._  
But Effie hadn’t enjoyed it. Not this time. What had it changed? Nothing. She had still been raped by Locke, and his dogs. Now there was nothing to hate, and that was almost worse.  
But she’d made an agreement, and now Damon and Jamie’s lives were at stake. She had to finish what she’d started.


	83. Busted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made myself at home  
> In the cobwebs and the lies  
> I’m learning all your tricks  
> I can hurt you from inside

Ramsay cried out as the curtains in his bedroom were ripped open, allowing light in and illuminating the state of his cesspit.  
“What the fuck?” He yelled, barely able to open his eyes and running a comforting hand up and down Reek’s back as his pet sat up, alarmed. Myranda was stood by the window, clearly the culprit for his sudden blindness. With a pout, she turned to look at him. “Your father wants to see you.” She told him bluntly. Apparently she was in a bad mood. Ramsay hadn’t paid all that much attention to her these days. He’d had bigger things on his mind, and the only person that could really relax him and make him forget about them was his Reek.  
“What about?” Ramsay asked, rubbing his eyes to try and get rid of the blurriness.  
“How should I fucking know?” Myranda snapped, storming from the room.  
“Get me coffee!” He barked after her, in no mood for her attitude. With a groan, he got up and dressed in the first clothes he managed to find. Reek remained on the bed, awaiting commands. Ramsay gave him none other than to stay, though that went without saying. Reek knew who he belonged to.  
Dragging his feet, Ramsay made his way down to his father’s study, still half asleep. Much to his surprise, the door was open. “What is it father? It’s, like, ten in the morning.” Ramsay yawned, still nursing his tired eyes.  
“Eleven, actually.” His father replied sharply. Ramsay knew that tone, though he didn’t hear it often as his father hardly ever showed such concern. “I received a text from Locke last night, saying he was going to fix the wall on the far side of the estate.” Roose said coldly, staring out of the window.  
“Right. So?” Ramsay didn’t see why this was worth getting out of bed for.  
“So something isn’t right. I ordered Locke to patrol our lands only until further notice. He would never disobey me.” Ramsay knew that. Locke was as loyal as his dogs. “Head to the wall the text mentioned. See if he’s there.” His father ordered.  
“But what if it’s a trap, and _they’re_ there waiting?” Ramsay asked. It still irked him that he had no idea who ‘they’ was yet. He liked having the upper hand, and being able to torment his prey.  
“Fine. Take a weapon.” Was all his father advised.  
“Is that all?”  
“You can take Domeric too if you wish to have company.” Even from the back of his head, Ramsay could tell his father was smiling his almost smile.  
“Fuck that.” Ramsay muttered, leaving the room; his hands clenched into tight fists.

Once dressed properly, Ramsay headed down to Locke’s garage in search of a gun and to set the dogs loose. Despite his initial hesitation, he was looking forward to a possible hunt. Grabbing a hunting rifle, Ramsay began to whistle cheerfully as he went to fetch the dogs. Usually his whistle would set off their excited barking, but the kennels were eerily quiet. There wasn’t so much as a whine, and when Ramsay entered the dank building, he found out why. Each and every one of the pens was empty; their doors shut. Locke always did that when he had taken them for a walk, but if he was fixing the far boundary as the text claimed, he wouldn’t have taken the dogs with him. They were too unpredictable.  
Armed with nothing more than the gun, Ramsay headed out; trying his best to stick to covered areas rather than chancing it out in the open. Once he reached the woods at the bottom of the estate, he relaxed a little; slinging the gun over his shoulders and swaggering along the paths. He was sure there was some explanation. Locke was old, maybe he’d forgotten father’s orders? Or thought fixing the wall was more important. It wasn’t like they had caught any hint of an attack, and a decent boundary would help to keep unwanted visitors out.  
He had been so sure, and so wrapped up in his excuses that he almost didn’t notice. The mud along the path had been churned up, and then it led to a trail of broken down undergrowth. Ramsay stared at it; narrowing his eyes. Then he knelt down and inspected the dirt. He could have sworn he glimpsed blood mixed in with the mud. Lifting his head, brows knitted together, he sniffed the air. The scent of fear had faded, but the smell of blood was almost tangible. Moving on the balls of his feet, he crept through the broken undergrowth. It wasn’t long before he found out why there was a path there. They were hardly hidden, though perhaps that was the point.  
Pulling out his phone, Ramsay called his father; glancing around anxiously, wary of every leaf rustling. “Father? I’ve found him.”

“Eff, can you do me another favour?” Ros groaned, sipping from her mug of coffee as though it were water from the fountain of youth. “The Lannisters have come for another meeting. See if they want anything would you? I don’t think I’ll be able to move without throwing up everywhere.” Effie was more than happy to oblige, and leapt to her feet immediately. “Sure thing.” She said, though her voice didn’t sound as eager as her movements. Part of her mind was elsewhere; still fretting over the bodies in the woods. But this could be a welcome distraction. She’d get to see if her plan had worked.  
Effie slowed as she reached the boardroom, frightened of what she would find inside. Glancing through the window, she glimpsed Petyr talking with Cersei and Jaime, while Joffrey was spinning idly in one of the chairs. Tyrion was nowhere to be seen. And neither was Gregor.   
Smirking to herself, Effie pushed the door open and went inside. “Can I get you anything, Mr Baelish?” She asked, though her train of thought was cut off by a figure she had not yet spotted. Sat in the same seat as Gregor had been was yet another monster, though not one she was familiar with. He wasn’t as big as Gregor had been, but half his face was melted making him look more like a monster than a giant. And he was glaring right at her.  
“Same as last week, though minus the water.” Petyr replied without looking up from his folder.  
“Oh?” Effie longed to know more.  
“Could always put some in a bowl for my dog.” Joffrey snorted. Effie managed to refrain from curling her lip. “Fuck water.” She heard the man growl.  
“Well I suppose that settles that then.” Effie snapped back without thinking. The room fell silent after her outburst, and Baelish dealt her a murderous look. “Excuse me for a moment.” He said to the Lannisters, who were all stood glaring at her. None more so than the monster in the corner. Petyr’s fingers dug into her arm as he guided her out of the room. Gritting her teeth, she allowed it until they were out of sight, then she pulled out of his grip. “You have a very interesting way of dealing with my clients. I thought you didn’t want this company to go bust.”  
Effie managed to bite her tongue before reminding him that losing the Lannister’s was hardly going to make much of a difference considering their financial standing. “You would do well to watch your mouth around Clegane too.” Petyr’s voice was low in warning.  
“Clegane?” Effie struggled to get her voice higher than a whisper.  
“Yes. Sandor Clegane has taken his brother’s place as the Lannisters bodyguard.” Petyr looked as though he were growing bored of her, and she knew that was a dangerous thing. Still, she couldn’t help but ask.  
“What happened to Gregor?” She tried to make it sound as innocent as possible.  
“He died.” Petyr replied nonchalantly, already heading back to the boardroom. “Now bring us those drinks.” He added with a wave of his hand.  
“Prick.” Effie muttered under her breath, heading off to make the tea. She served it without dropping it this time, and then returned to her desk; still feeling Sandor Clegane’s glare on her. Everything seemed to be getting to her that morning, but when her phone began to buzz and she saw the caller ID, nothing else seemed to matter.  
“Your phone’s ringing.” Ros pointed out groggily. Effie continued to stare at it as it vibrated against the table. As she reached out to pick it up, she saw her hand was shaking. “Ramsay?” She managed to say, though her mouth felt like sand paper.  
“Eff? Where are you?” His voice was sharp, and he seemed to be on the verge of panic.  
“At work. Why?” _He’s found the bodies_. Why else would he be so panicked?   
“I need you to come home, right now. I can’t explain, you just need to get home. Don’t even tell Baelish, dad will sort things out with him later. Just get on a train and get home.” His tone was urgent and pleading. It was a trick, it had to be. He’d found the bodies and figured it out, and now he was trying to lure her into a trap. Ramsay loved to play games.  
“I can’t…I’m at work, I can’t just leave!” Effie lowered her voice until she was sure no one could hear. Glancing up, she saw the Lannisters leaving the boardroom, and her eyes were glued to Joff as he went. _All in good time_.  
“Effie, get home _now_.” He was breathing heavily, clearly panicked. “ _Please_.”  
“Okay.” She muttered. “Okay, I’m coming now.” Ramsay ended the call, leaving Effie to panic. It was impossible for her to tell whether or not he was being genuine. If this was a trick, they’d have thought ahead. They’d have people watching her. She’d have no choice but to go back. Perhaps it would just be Ramsay and Roose she had to face. All she’d need would be a few minutes alone with them. True, her brother was strong and had been a killer for longer than she knew, but Effie could be quick, and she had been killing for longer than _he_ knew too. Roose might be more complicated. He was old, but she didn’t know what skills he possessed beyond his ability to scare you shitless with his voice alone.  
“I’m just going for a fag.” She told Ros, who was almost asleep at her desk. Fortunately that meant she didn’t notice Effie take her bag and coat. Keeping one eye on Baelish’s office, she headed into the swarm of people and disappeared. The stairwell was a little quieter, allowing her time to consider her options. She had to go back to the Boltons, of course, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t call for back up. If they had found out about her, they surely would have men ready to help take her down. Roose would have taken the precautions at least, perhaps even without Ramsay’s knowledge. Without the element of surprise, she needed help.  
As soon as she was out of the building and walking down the secluded side road that was a short cut to the nearest station, Effie pulled out her phone. “Have you done it yet?” Euron answered, his tone sharp. She knew to tread carefully.  
“I’ve started, but I think they know. I killed Locke and all his dogs yesterday morning, they came at me while I was out running. I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…it was just, you know, a reflex.” Effie stammered as panic gripped her. She felt so weak as the silence dragged on. “There was no time to hide the bodies properly, and I just got a call from Ramsay while I was at home. He _begged_ me to come home. I think they know. I think it’s a trap.” She stopped walking to grab hold of the grimy wall in an attempt to get a hold of herself.  
“Pull yourself together Eff, for fuck sake.” Euron growled at her down the phone.  
“I’m fucking trying! It’s just that if I’ve lost the element of surprise what have I got? I don’t know if I can do this alone…”  
“Fine. I’ll send help.” It was easier than she’d expected, but Effie could almost smell the trap in his voice.  
“At what price?” She asked out-rightly, in no mood to play guessing games.  
“Just pick who you want us to kill. Damon or the kid. I’ll only kill one of them.” Effie lowered the phone for a moment to make sure Euron didn’t hear her terrified panting.  
“Don’t.” She growled at last, sounding as cruel as he had. “I’ll do it, even if it kills me.” Euron was silent on the other line for a long moment, and a smile crept across her face.  
“Effie…”  
“Fuck!” The phone fell from her hand and smashed on the ground as she was yanked back from behind. Effie had never heard the car pull up behind her, and she fought hard as her attacker dragged her towards it. The last thing she saw before they stabbed her with a tranquiliser was the Greyjoy crest on the bonnet.


	84. Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I look in the window  
> and I gaze at my face  
> Every line and every abrasion  
> This took my life to make

“Where the fuck is she?” Ramsay growled, pacing his father’s study. Roose was sat at his desk, writing. Sometimes, Ramsay wondered if he actually was writing anything at all.  
“We have more important things to be concerned about.” His father sighed, not looking up from his scribbling.  
“More _important_ things? She’s my sister you fucking…” Ramsay trailed off as his father’s cold gaze met his own, warning him not to say another word.  
“Effie is hardly a target. By killing Locke they have shown how easy it is for them to infiltrate our lands. _We_ are the next target, and it could be any one of us. You, me, Walda, the maid. Even that creature of yours.” That made Ramsay’s pacing pause, and his hand curled into a fist.  
“But she _is_ a target. They know she works for Baelish, that much is obvious after my delightful exchange with the Tyrell bitch.”  
“Who you were supposed to deal with, I seem to recall.” His father said scathingly.  
“I thought I had more time.” Ramsay admitted through gritted teeth.  
“Well you thought wrong.” Their bickering ceased as Roose’s phone began to ring. A part of Ramsay held hope that it would be his sister, but she was hardly likely to ring Roose. His father’s face gave nothing away as he answered the call. Try as he might, Ramsay couldn’t catch the other half of the conversation, and his father’s replies were so blunt he might as well have been trying to work out Morse code.  
By the time his father hung up, Ramsay was pacing again. “Have you seen Domeric yet today?” Roose asked him. Curling his lip, Ramsay shook his head. Roose sighed heavily. “Sit down Ramsay.” His lip twitched, but Ramsay obeyed. “There are some things I think you should know.”

It was impossible for her to tell how long she had been in the car for when the tranquiliser began to wear off. By the tightness and lack of light, Effie guessed she was in the boot. Drowsily smiling to herself, she went to move herself ready to kick at the lights so that she could gain some attention if there were any cars behind her. But her attackers had thought ahead. A chain was fastened to the cable ties that bound her hands and feet, which meant it was impossible for her to move from the fetal position she’d been put in. Baring her teeth, Effie remained silent. What good would yelling do her? She needed the quiet to think and clear her head.   
Doing her best to recall what had happened, Effie found the situation only became more confusing. She’d been on the phone to Euron, yet there had been a Greyjoy sigil on the front of the car. It wasn’t a car Effie recognised though, and since when did they put the crest on their cars? It made no sense to her. Euron wouldn’t have been so stupid, but Euron wasn’t the only one tied to the Greyjoys, and Effie had had just as many enemies when she was with Euron as she did when she was with the Boltons. Asha was too clever to have left such an obvious mark on her car and drive through the centre of London, but Victarion had always come across as a bit of a meathead. Though he’d never hated her as much as Asha had.  
“Shit.” Effie hissed as the car swerved and began to bump along a rutted road. She could sense they were no longer driving along tarmac and every jolt shook her to the bone. The fact she was forced to stay curled up on her side meant that her shoulder and hips took the worst of it, while the darkness disorientated her and made her feel sick. Fortunately it didn’t last long, but then the car slowed right down to a halt and the engine was killed off. Effie held her breath as she felt the car shift and the driver’s door open and slam shut. Only one person got out of the car, but there was more than one voice.  
“You got her then?” The male tones were thick with a northern accent and he sounded neither glad nor angry that her attacker had found her. It wasn’t a voice she recognised either.  
“Bitch never saw me coming. Clearly she hasn’t been as well trained as her brother.” That voice she did know. She’d only heard it once; this morning at the meeting. Sandor Clegane’s cruel rasp made Effie growl deep in her throat.  
“Hopefully that means she’ll be easier to handle.” The northerner chuckled.   
“The tranquiliser should have worn off by now, but I didn’t hear a peep out of her.” Sandor snorted with disgust. “She should be no trouble.”   
“Can’t you at least wait until Dom gets here?” Effie froze; her entire body rigid with shock.  
_Dom_. Did he mean Domeric?  
“Scared of a little girl?” Sandor rasped.  
“Little girls can be pretty scary. You should know. You’ve taken care of my sister for long enough.” There was little humour in the Northman’s voice.  
“That’s true. She’s your responsibility now though.”  
“And don’t I know it.” That did make him laugh, though the amusement failed to calm Effie. She wanted to know who she was with, and why they had taken her, and if Domeric had anything to do with all this. “Suppose we’d better get it over with then.” The northerner sighed. Sandor just grunted. Then they were headed towards them; she could hear their footsteps on the gravel getting closer. For a moment, Effie tensed her muscles, readying herself to attack. But what was the point while she was tied up? Even so, she held her breath as the latch to the boot was released. Then she was blinded by the sunlight that flooded in.  
“Argh, fuck.” She spat as her eyes burned.  
“Charming.” Sandor snarled back. Still blinded, Effie bared her teeth at him and released a growl. “Not as fancy as her fancy clothes say.” Clegane laughed. She hated him now more than she had this morning. He was just another monster.  
“You wouldn’t be feeling too fancy either if you’d been kidnapped!” Effie barked, flinching away as he leant forward to lift her out of the boot.  
“You haven’t been kidnapped, you’ve been saved. For some reason or other.” Sandor growled. “Maybe it’s because you’ve got a decent pair of tits.”  
“Sandor!” Effie’s sight had returned to her now, and her head whipped around at the sound of the unknown voice. Seeing his face gave her no further clues as to who he was. He was handsome, in a dark, miserable way. There was no goofy smile or wicked smirk. Effie wouldn’t go for him in a million years, if that’s what he was thinking. “Who the fuck are you?” She asked. The northerner dealt her a disapproving look, then turned to Sandor. “Put her down and take off the bindings.” He ordered.  
“Best not. I’ll run.” Effie grinned.  
“Girl has a point. She’s got the same lip her brother has, arrogant little cunt.” Sandor grumbled.  
“Thanks.” Effie retorted with a smile, her anger ebbing away as she began to wear Sandor down. He was easily provoked, it seemed.  
“There’s no point in running. I’m not going to harm you, I promise. My name is Jon Snow, I’m a friend of your brother’s.” He sounded genuine, and almost kind. But there was a coldness to him too, as though the world had worn him down and his eyes had seen too much of it.  
“Which brother? You mentioned Dom. Did you mean Domeric?” Effie swallowed nervously.  
“Yes, I did. Domeric and I go way back. My brother and I were friends with him when we were all much younger.” Jon smiled sadly, staring off dramatically into the distance.  
“That’s nice, but Domeric isn’t my brother. Not anymore.” Effie said, lowering her gaze.  
“Well, suppose that settles it then.” Sandor threw her onto the ground as though he were throwing out rubbish. Effie cried out as she hit the gravel, cursing the half-melted monster. Jon dealt him a warning glare before crouching down in front of Effie. For a fluttering heartbeat, Effie thought he meant to kill her as he pulled a knife from his belt. Tilting her chin up, Effie met his gaze, then felt a fool as he cut through the cable ties. “That’s a pity, because he loves you like a sister, and he treats you like one. Domeric isn’t the one that whored you out, abused you, sold you to his father, and flayed your back.” Jon reminded her grimly, the revulsion in his voice almost tangible.  
“You forgot about the drugged rape, but I suppose I’ll let it pass.” Effie sighed, still smirking.  
“You can pretend you don’t care all you want. But Domeric is the only reason you’re here, and if it weren’t for how much he cares for you, Sandor would be the one with the knife.” Jon said without an ounce of malice in his voice. It was said as though killing her would just be his duty.  
“Why? Because Ramsay’s my brother? Believe me, if I could change that I would.” Effie snarled, growing tired of not knowing what was going on.  
“No. Because Ramsay and that lying father of his murdered my family, and the girl I loved.” Jon growled back, the icy exterior giving away to white hot rage. Frowning, Effie sat up, nursing her sore wrists where the cable ties had bitten into the flesh. Spinning away from her, Jon stood up and walked away as Effie put the pieces together.  
“You’re Sansa’s brother.” She breathed, her heart starting to ache. Slowly, he turned back to her, though he avoided her gaze. “I knew her. She was my friend. I know what Ramsay did to her, and that he was paid to kill her.” Before she could make any further guesses, an approaching car could be heard. Effie kept her eyes on Jon, whose right hand moved to his left hip whilst his left hand went to his inner jacket pocket. Once he caught sight of the driver, he relaxed. Only then did Effie turn to see who had arrived. The sound of her heart pounding filled her ears as Domeric climbed out from the car, and looked around desperately; his face creased with worry. Despite everything, Effie’s heart warmed when she saw him. She felt safer; surer of herself. He was the one thing amongst all the panic and confusion that made sense.  
“Effie!” He cried upon seeing her. Refraining from calling back, Effie just stood up on weak, shaking legs as he jogged over to her. Regardless of how cold she’d been to him recently, Domeric didn’t seem to think twice about hugging her tightly. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking her up and down.  
“I will be once you tell me what the fuck is going on.” She gasped, almost laughing. It all seemed ridiculous to her now.  
“I know, I know. I’m so sorry for not telling you. I wanted to but…I just couldn’t, you know?” Effie did know. All too well. “But you once asked me to get you out of there, and I did.”  
“You said there were things you needed to do before you left.” Effie recalled the time she had begged him to help her escape, and now here she was annoyed that he had done so. “Are you going to kill them?” She asked. It made no sense to her. Domeric didn’t seem the killing sort.  
“ _I’m_ not.” He said, his face grim.  
“ _We_ are.” Effie hadn’t noticed her before. She seemed so small. Insignificant. A child, really.  
“Arya…” Jon’s voice carried a warning, but Arya paid no heed to it. Before Effie could ready herself for an attack, Arya flew at her.


	85. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, all of these minutes passing, sick of feeling used  
> If you wanna break these walls down, you're gonna get bruised  
> Now my neck is open wide, begging for a fist around it  
> Already choking on my pride, so there's no use crying about it

The wind was knocked from her lungs as she hit the gravel again; her head slamming into the ground so hard she could taste blood in her mouth. “Fucking Bolton bitch!” Arya screamed at her; savagely beating with tiny fists and snapping ferociously with pearly white teeth. If Jon or Domeric were protesting at all, neither girl heard. There was once a time when Effie would have just lied down and taken the attack. But she wasn’t that girl anymore, and Arya was a threat. A small threat, but a threat nonetheless.   
Releasing a feral snarl, Effie shoved the girl off of her with ease. Arya was quick, but Effie had anticipated that and soon had her pinned down beneath her. Grabbing a decent sized rock, Effie raised it high. Instead of spying fear in her opponents eyes, Effie saw defiance; Arya dared her to do it with nothing more than a look.  
“That’s enough Effie.” Unable to place Domeric’s voice, Effie’s head whipped around as he grabbed her raised hand. For a moment, she considered sinking her teeth into the pale hand that grasped her wrist. But then she saw the familiar face, and the hunter’s instinct slowly receded. He looked at her with concern and more than a little confusion. He was struggling to recognise her. Smoothly standing, Effie pulled herself out of his grasp and dropped the rock, avoiding Domeric’s quizzical gaze.  
“See! I told you she was one of them!” Arya barked, leaping up and turning to her brother. “She was all too ready to smash my head in with a rock.”  
“And you were all too ready to rip her throat out with your bare teeth. Now keep your voice down.” Jon scolded, hardly hiding a smirk. Chewing her lip, Arya continued to glare at Effie.   
“Perhaps we should explain ourselves. Effie’s been drugged, thrown into the boot of a car and driven to the middle of nowhere. We owe her an explanation.” Domeric reasoned.  
“We’ve saved her. You never said we’d let her in on the plan.” Jon argued.  
“Let me guess. You want revenge. You want to kill the Boltons for what they did to your family.” Effie just shrugged. It seemed reasonable in her mind.  
“There’s more to it than that.” Domeric ignored Jon and Arya’s warning looks. “My father and Ramsay have been searching for us for years, well, for them.” He inclined his head towards Jon and Arya. “The Lannisters wanted rid of the Starks. Business deals gone wrong, we think. It’s hard to know for sure. Before you and Ramsay had moved in with father, he had already killed Jon’s father and step mother, and…” Domeric’s voice broke and his face creased, as though the words that he had failed to say caused him pain.  
“And my brother.” Jon finished for him. Effie kept her gaze fixed on Domeric, putting the unsaid pieces together. When he spoke again, his voice still shook. “That was when I left. Father needed help hunting down the rest of the Starks, so he went to Ramsay. They kept Sansa alive, for a time. Locked away and out of sight. They hoped to marry her off to Joffrey at some point, so they could get the Stark estates up North. Obviously her break down became public knowledge, and they had to call that off. But they still kept her around in hope she had some information. That’s why she was sent to Barrowton House. They seem to be able to get everything out of their students.” At the mention of his aunt’s establishment, Domeric’s look darkened. No doubt he had been hoping Barbrey was innocent in all of this.  
“You forgot to tell her about my younger brothers.” Arya cut in, her voice laced with venom. “Tell her what her brother did.” She urged. There was little need. Effie had worked it out already.  
“Ramsay set fire to the orphanage Bran and Rickon Stark were being kept in.” Domeric muttered, unable to meet her gaze. Effie didn’t even bother feigning surprise.  
“He also killed Sansa, shortly after they caught Ygritte. Ygritte was one of us, but she got caught trying to lead them off our trail. We were starting to struggle on our own. She was taken to Barrowton too for questioning, most likely.”  
“That’s a nice way of putting it.” Jon muttered under his breath.  
“She said nothing of course. Ramsay made sure we found the body. If he wasn’t so dependent on father, I believe your brother would have made a good serial killer.” Domeric joked disdainfully. The corner of her mouth twitched with amusement.  
“But Ygritte hated you. I remember now, I met her once. As soon as she heard my surname she went mental.” Glancing at Jon, she saw a fond smile spread across his face.   
“That was a ruse. She was trying to convince them she hated me so that they would think she’d confess everything and give them clues. It bought her time, but not enough for us to rescue her.” Jon’s smile withered to nothing.   
“Like I said, we were starting to struggle on our own. But after Sansa was murdered, someone sought us out and offered help. Someone who had all the information on the Lannisters and the Boltons we needed.” Domeric watched as she figured it out for herself.  
“Mr Baelish.” Effie said stonily. Something about him helping out didn’t feel right.  
“And others. Margaery Tyrell had every reason to want them dead too, once she found out the truth. Petyr was an old acquaintance of her grandmother’s.” The memory of Olenna Tyrell made Effie smile. She had liked the old woman.  
“Petyr helped us cover our tracks and avoid getting caught. We’re closer than we’ve ever gotten, but we’re going to need your help, Effie.” Domeric said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder.  
She wanted to shrug it off, to run and leave it all behind. To find Euron, and tell him to forget everything and just take her away. To leave them all behind and become someone else. Things had become too hard, so much more complicated. She’d thought she could do it, but now she wasn’t sure. Her original plan seemed so much simpler now. Kill them all, keep Ramsay alive. But now…  
“Domeric!” Jon’s shout could only just be heard above the roar of an engine, and something big crashing through the undergrowth. Moments later, a car skidded into view.  
“Arya, run.” Effie heard Jon growl. They argued for a moment, but Effie barely heard them. As Ramsay stepped out of the car, she began to shake uncontrollably. “Found you.” He called cheerily. Even from where they stood, Effie could see him grinning. It was a forced, pained grin. He was doing his best not to look at her. Any sadness she felt over that was frozen as another figure emerged from the car.  
Myranda calmly strode over to Ramsay and stood by his side. _A modern Charlie and Caril_ Effie thought to herself, smirking despite it all.  
“I must say, you all are quite impressive.” Ramsay laughed. “Managed to dodge us for quite some time. But did you _really_ think you were going to sneak up on us? Terrorize us?” His hand went to his side, and he pulled out a gun. She could sense Domeric and Jon tense up, but Ramsay didn’t even aim it at them; just waved it around carelessly. Jon moved to stand beside Domeric, who gently pushed Effie behind them. That made Ramsay look her right in the eye. She saw the betrayal in them.  
_It’s not what you think. It’s so much worse.  
_ “I expected this of him,” He inclined his head towards Domeric. “I suspected him the moment he started fraternising with the fucking Tyrells. But you…” She saw his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “I never would have thought…” Ramsay couldn’t finish that sentence either, and averted his gaze to the ground. Effie could see him trying to pull himself together. Then he met her gaze again, and the last trace of pity she felt for him withered away as she stared into the eyes of the monster that had terrified her every day of her life.  
“If you come here now Effie, I’ll forgive you. I won’t tell father. Just come to me.” He ordered, his voice growing so quiet it was almost swallowed by the distance between them.  
Effie said nothing. The breeze stirred her hair, but that was the only movement.  
“Only one chance Eff.” He warned.  
“Don’t call me Eff.” She called back, a bizarre calmness filling her despite the gun in Ramsay’s hand. They could see him take a deep breath from where they stood, and Effie was certain Domeric and Jon were holding their breaths.  
It was one simple movement. One arm adjustment. Effie marvelled at the straightness of the shot; how precise and perfect it was. She hoped to do the same one day; found herself storing it away as a future goal, even as the bullet flew towards them too fast for the naked eye to see. Though perhaps it was the shock that made everything seem out of focus.  
Effie only flinched as Jon’s body hit the ground. The shot had left her ears ringing, so she couldn’t hear Domeric screaming for her to run. She just stared down at the body; its head was half gone, now nothing more than a mess of blood and brains. Effie recalled the solemn, handsome face she’d met no more than an hour ago.  
_He wasn’t my type_ it was such an odd thing to think about under the circumstances.  
Her hearing was slowly returning to her, but Effie didn’t notice until there came an anguished scream from the treeline.  
“Jon!” Arya cried, her voice echoing around what Effie now realised was a car park. She couldn’t see Arya, though her eyes scanned the treeline.  
“Eff, Eff! Come on! Move!” Domeric’s fingers bit into her arm, and Effie allowed him to pull her away from the mess. Lifting her gaze, she could see that the monster was coming for her.  
“’Randa! Go after the little Stark cunt.” She heard him roar to his mate. His voice was so familiar. She’d heard it almost every day of her life.  
_Pull yourself together._  
And there it was. That voice that always came to her now when she thought of her monsters. The rasping, mocking voice of reason. Despite how she loathed it sometimes, it worked. Effie forced her legs to move faster; her gait not at all hindered by the heels she had chosen that morning for work. That morning when, despite having murdered Locke and all his dogs, things had seemed normal.   
She had caught up with Domeric now, and had almost passed him when another gunshot shattered her hearing for a second time. So confused by the diminished sense, Effie didn’t realise that Domeric’s grip on her arm was gone.  
_Keep running_ Euron bellowed inside her head, but Effie skidded to a halt and span around. Domeric’s agonised groans were the first thing she heard when her hearing returned to her, and she turned to see him face down on the gravel; his arms trying to lift him, but his legs remaining unresponsive. Looking up, he saw she had stopped, and his eyes filled with panic. “Eff, no. Run! Go!” He pleaded. But Effie gritted her teeth; the growl ripping from her throat out of instinct as Ramsay continued to gain on them; grinning madly now.  
Curling her hands into fists, Effie ran towards him.


	86. Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been cause betrayal in hearts  
> They can in dream tonight deceives us  
> A million voices, silent screams  
> Where hope is left so incomplete

He had been so focused on his most recent catch that the other caught him unawares. Muscles coiled, he was ready to spring on the weaker one when he saw her, running _at_ him.   
_No. Turn around. Run the other way. I can’t stop myself._  
He growled to keep the voice quiet, unsure from whom or where it had come from. Baring his teeth, his focus moved onto the bigger threat. The prey trying to protect what remained of her herd. How cute. It made a wide grin stretch across his face. As always, he looked at her eyes, waiting for her to falter, to stop, to swerve. But her gaze was resolute; her eyes an icy blue.  
He wasn’t himself, just like she wasn’t herself. The thrill of the hunt, of the kill, was like a drug; distorting their minds and fucking with their heads. It had infected them both.  
_Please turn. Please run. Please…  
_ Ramsay released a roar as his sister leapt and twisted so she could drop-kick him. The move took him by surprise, as did the pain. Her high heels dug into his chest on impact. His roar of anger evolved to one of pain, and he was sure he was bleeding, though he could see no red. There was no chance for him to retaliate though, as she quickly pounced on him again. Unthinkingly, he tried to ready his gun. With terrifying accuracy, Effie struck a nerve in his arm that forced his hand open, and the traitorous weapon to drop into her hand. The realisation of what was happening hit him harder than a bullet.  
“Effie…stop…” He panted, the realisation of what his sister was doing and what she had become creeping into his bones like a winter chill. His sister ignored him; focusing instead on pinning his hands down beneath her knees and grinding them into the dirt until he cried out in pain.  
“So what? You’re one of _them_? You’ve been one of them all along?” She stopped inspecting the handgun then, and met his gaze; smiling her Effie smile. He didn’t know her at all. He never had, and he never would. The gun spun in her grasp and she struck him across the jaw with it.  
“What? You think they’re the good guys, is that it?” He threw back his head, laughing. “They’ve killed too. They’ve killed plenty. They killed Locke, and all his dogs…” Ramsay’s hilarity faded as Effie’s smile died.  
“They didn’t kill Locke.” She said coldly. “I did.” It felt as though someone was carving out his guts with icicles. Effie leant in; not a ghost of emotion on her face. “And my only regret is that I didn’t shove a knife up his arse before I choked the life from him.” She hissed.   
Ramsay could feel a tooth had come loose, and could taste blood in his mouth. “Why?” He mumbled, flinching with pain.  
“So he knew what it felt like to have something he didn’t want shoved inside of him.” Effie shrugged nonchalantly. “I tried to tell you what he did to me, but you were too busy with that little pet of yours to notice.” Despite his anger, Ramsay’s stomach churned sickeningly. He’d trusted Locke, he’d never even thought he’d touch Effie.  
“So what?” He spat, swallowing the bitter taste of guilt. “You joined them? You’re going to kill me, and everyone else? It’s a little late. They know now. Father and all the rest know about your little plan. That’s why I’m here.” Grinning despite the pain in his jaw, Ramsay cocked his head. “Somebody told on you all. The Starks always were too trusting.”   
Slowly, Effie adjusted the gun so it dug into the flesh below his jaw. Glancing briefly towards the car, he saw a face pressed against the window; two wide, terror-filled eyes watching the scene unfold. All she had to do was pull the trigger and that would be it. Of all the people in the world to want him dead, he’d never thought his little sister would be one of them. The girl he had raised, protected, saved.  
“I’m not fighting for the Starks.” His sister hissed; her lips stretching into an almost mad smile. One that he recognised, and that haunted him sometimes at night. “And I’m not going to kill you either.” Ramsay breathed a sigh of relief as she lowered the gun, and allowed himself to smirk.  
“Won’t? Or can’t?” He chuckled. Keeping her eyes on his, Effie leaned in so close he could feel her breath mingle with his own. “I could kill you, believe me. I have imagined a hundred different ways. I used to lie awake every night and think about it. But then I realised there was no death good enough for you. I want to make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine. I’m going to destroy everything you’ve earned, and everything you’ve cared about.” Ramsay glanced at the car again, nervous now.  
“Good thing there’s nothing much I care about.” He forced a smile.  
“Not even the pet you’ve got hidden in your car?” Effie smiled, almost gently. “You know dogs die if you leave them in cars for too long, right? I think it’s time we let him out, don’t you?” Her voice was mocking.  
His heart began to pound so hard he thought she’d feel it. “Don’t you fucking dare!” He roared. As Effie began to stand, Ramsay followed her up and went to pull her back down. It were as though she’d planned his movement. Turning back around, she unsheathed the knife at his belt and drove it through his right shoulder; pushing him back onto the ground and driving the blade into the dirt so that he was pinned down. As he tried not to pass out, Effie slipped his flaying knife from his pocket and pierced through his left hand, in case he would try to free himself. Then, as if for good measure, she raised the gun. Ramsay’s scream seared his own ears as the bullet shattered his left kneecap.  
Were he not blinded by agony, and undoubtedly about to see his creation, his Reek, shot dead in front of him, Ramsay would have been rather impressed by his little sister’s work.  
Reek’s cries of fear cleared Ramsay’s head and he looked over to see Effie dragging him towards him. Gritting his teeth, Ramsay tried desperately to free himself. It had been one fucking mistake after another, and he loathed himself for it. He’d thought they’d stolen his sister, so he’d gone to rescue her, like he always fucking did. Paranoid after the attack on Locke, he’d taken Reek along with him. Myranda had wanted to help too, and he’d needed an extra pair of hands seeing as he didn’t have Locke anymore. It was supposed to have been easy. He’d had the element of surprise, yet he’d still failed. If Effie wasn’t going to kill him, his father certainly would.  
“Please! Please don’t!” Reek cowered from his sister, who was now holding him at gunpoint. Ramsay wasn’t even angered by the fearful begging that was supposed to be reserved for him. “Master please, I’m scared!” Blinking back tears, Ramsay tried to think of something, anything, to say to his petrified Reek.  
“Reek, I…” His words were drowned out by a gunshot, and Reek screamed in terror. But his pet was still alive. “Listen to me.” Ramsay heard her say, and snarled as she crouched down in front of him; her murderous persona slowly falling away to reveal the old Effie. “You aren’t Reek.” She told him softly.  
“No!” Ramsay roared, unable to free himself.  
“You are Theon Greyjoy. You are the boy that humiliated me. Effie the slut. Effie the slag. Whore. What do you know, it’s Effie Snow. Remember?” He could see his pet starting to panic more as Reek turned to look at him, his eyes pleading.  
“Master, I don’t believe her! I don’t. I know who I am. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek!” He sobbed. Ramsay’s eyes burned and his vision blurred, and he blinked away helpless tears. With the tip of the gun, Effie forced Reek’s head back around so that he was looking her in the eye. “And I forgive you, Theon. I forgive you for everything you did to me.”  
Effie said nothing more. She didn’t gloat. She didn’t mock. She just pulled the trigger.

There was something very final about seeing Theon’s body slump onto the gravel, as if it signified that there was no turning back from the path she was on. Maybe it was the way he looked. He may have been a terrified mess a few seconds ago, but now he was just what remained. He was the shell of Theon Greyjoy. The vessel of that boy all girls at her school had wanted to be with, and who all boys wanted to be. It seemed strange that this was how it would end up, after all that. That she would be the one to kill him, after all that had happened to them both.  
Ignoring Ramsay’s screams and cries of anguish, Effie walked back over to him; forcing herself to feel nothing. She was oblivious to his threats and insults as she took his phone from his pocket. Taking a picture of the body, Effie sent it to the number engraved into her mind. Then she slipped the phone into her own pocket and turned back to her brother’s defeated form.  
“I never wanted this. I can’t say I am what you made me, because that’s a lie. It wasn’t all you. But you never listened. I _needed_ you, Ramsay. I needed my brother. I needed you to listen, to understand. At first I didn’t get why you were one of them, one of the faces. It frightened me to think that all along you were one of them. One of the monsters in my head.” She swallowed the emotions that made her eyes burn. There was no time for tears. She could hear the urgent cry of police sirens; drawn to the gunshots.  
“Goodbye Ramsay.” Effie said finally. Her brother said nothing; distracted by his own conflicted emotions. Grief, anger, bitterness, tiredness, love. She knew them all, because she was fighting them too. She had to stop herself from running, and focused on slowly putting one foot in front of the other. Domeric lay on the ground, motionless; so still she half-feared, half-hoped he was dead. The bullet wound was at the base of his spine, and still pumping blood. He looked up when he sensed her presence. The lack of recognition in his gaze almost broke her heart.  
“I’m sorry.” She muttered, her voice threatening to break. Biting her lip, an almost childish gesture, Effie crouched beside him.  
“My legs…I can’t feel them…” Domeric sobbed, his eyes wild and confused.  
“I’m so sorry.” Effie said again. He tried to focus on her; tried to listen to her words. For that she was grateful. “He wanted me to kill you. The only one I was supposed to spare was my brother. But I can’t, Domeric. I owe you too much. I can’t do it. So I’m sorry. For what I’ve become, and for what I’m going to do.” Her hand trembled as she stroked his cheek, and a lone tear fell amongst his dark curls as she kissed his head. “Goodbye Domeric.” She whispered.   
The sirens were louder now. Straightening up, Effie finally allowed herself to run. She ran deep into the forest, not worrying about where her feet were taking her. She’d thought it might lead to a nearby road, but the only sounds of cars were made by the sirens behind her. She ran until the cries were far away; so that it sounded like they were due to some circumstances unknown to her. For a moment, she allowed herself to pretend that she was just a girl again. The Effie Snow that enjoyed running around the Bolton estate, just to keep in shape. She wasn’t running from anything.  
The fact that Effie had thought herself free was her mistake. She didn’t spot the danger until it was too late. Myranda pounced on her from amongst the trees, and Effie fell back to reality with a mouthful of dirt. “What have you done to him? What the fuck have you done you little bitch?” Myranda screamed at her; clawing mercilessly at her face. Effie caught a finger in her mouth and bit down until her mouth was full of blood and flesh, and Myranda’s screams pierced her ears. As her attacker reeled back and clutched her hand in pain, Effie took her chance and started running once more. But now, back in this gruesome reality, she could feel the pain in her legs, and the burning in her lungs. Behind her, fuelled by unquenchable rage, Myranda resumed her pursuit; still releasing sobs of pain. Somehow, Effie found herself on a path. Soon enough, she reached a bridge that crossed a deep crack in the earth; not big enough to be a ravine, but big enough for her not to stop and look. She had almost reached the far side when there was another gunshot, and then a blinding pain in her lower left leg. Screaming, Effie hit the ground hard and turned to see her leg a bloody, pulsing mess. Through the pain, Effie saw Myranda approaching her, and she tried desperately to drag herself away. The bullet had planted itself inside her leg, and she cried out as she felt it move.  
“It’s funny.” Myranda chuckled. “All those threats you made, and I would never have guessed. Effie Snow, an assassin.” Gritting her teeth, Effie looked up at the smug face. “Bet Damon never knew about this.”  
“Don’t bring him into this!” Effie snapped, suddenly filled with guilt. Myranda just continued to smile triumphantly down at her, then lifted a foot and stamped down on Effie’s injured leg. “Where’s Ramsay?” She had to shout the question so it could be heard above Effie’s screams.  
“Dead!” Effie replied, lying just to spite Myranda. It wasn’t as if death was something to fear. “At least now you won’t be punished.” Effie smirked through the pain.  
“Punished for what?” Myranda hissed.  
“You know, failing to kill the little Stark girl.” Myranda’s face fell. “Kind of embarrassing, being beaten by a little girl.” Effie chuckled.  
“Well, I suppose I’ll just have to find another.” With a cat-like smirk, Myranda raised the gun and aimed it for Effie’s head. Staring down the barrel, Effie wondered if she’d actually see the bullet as it left the gun, or if it would happen without her knowing.   
As Myranda was knocked aside, Effie concluded she wouldn’t get an answer. Not yet anyway.   
Her eyes widened as a towering figure picked Myranda up like a rag doll, unperturbed by her panicked shrieks as she was carried to the edge and flung over the side of the bridge. The screaming fell away, before ending abruptly with a sickening crunch that made Effie wince. Sandor Clegane turned, and regarded her with a look that could kill.


	87. Insurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All we do is drive  
> All we do is think about the feelings that we hide  
> All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign  
> Sick and full of pride  
> All we do is drive

As she began to grow used to the throbbing pain in her leg, Effie rested her head against the window and watched the world speed by; the sky slowly darkening as night hid them from sight. Her eyelids grew heavy, but she refused to sleep. Not with Sandor right next to her.  
“You can sleep. I’m not going to kill you.” He grumbled, as if he could read her mind.  
“There are worse things you could do.” Effie mumbled in reply, refusing to look at his scarred face. Barking with laughter, Sandor overtook three cars in a row; going way beyond the speed limit. Effie doubted that was the worst crime he’d committed.  
“I wouldn’t touch you. Know where you’ve been.” She almost spat at him for that, but instead settled for a murderous look. “You’re not with your posh friends now girl. Let’s not pretend we’re something else. A whore and a killer.” He chuckled; a harsh, grating sound.  
“I’m a killer too.” Effie snapped; her weary brain irritated by everything Sandor did.  
“That’s something to shout from the rooftops.” He scoffed. Balling her hands into fists, Effie turned back to the window and glared at her reflection. For a time they sat in blissful silence. But that blissful silence soon became a burden as memories of that day flashed through her mind.  
“Who was your first?” She was almost grateful to Sandor for breaking the silence.  
“Just some guy.” She lied, shrugging. By her feet, she spotted her bag and began to search through it for her cigarettes.  
“Bullshit. It’s not like losing your virginity girl. You never forget the face of the first person you kill.” Effie remained in stubborn silence as she lit her fag, exhaling deeply. “Open the fucking window will you?” He snapped. Obeying wordlessly, Effie rolled down the window so far the wind hit her face and bit at her cheeks. The pain felt good.  
“How did you do it then? The first time?” She could sense he was as afraid of the silence as she was.  
“Knife to the heart.” Effie shrugged. In truth, she could hardly remember that night. Euron had given her some stuff, she’d taken it. They’d hunted down a man who’d owed Euron money. A lot of money. Effie never even knew the man’s name.  
“Personal.” Sandor’s mouth was set in a grim line, and he nodded as if he were impressed. Once again, they fell into fearful silence. Effie desperately thought of things to say.  
“I thought you’d left?” She said, turning to look at him.  
“I had. Went to go stash the car. Passed Ramsay on the way, driving like a madman. Nearly ran me off the road. Knew it meant shit was about to go down. By the time I got there, the police had arrived. Ambulances followed shortly after. I saw it all.” He admitted grimly.  
“Jon’s dead. So is Theon. Domeric was dying when I left him.” Effie told him; her voice flat and lifeless.  
“And Ramsay?” She looked away. “Fuck sake.” Sandor growled.  
“If it had been your brother, would you have done it? Could you have killed him?”  
“Without a second thought.” Sandor’s voice grew loud, and Effie had to refrain from cringing away. Something told her that if she admitted to killing Gregor, Sandor wouldn’t thank her for it. He’d kill her for not letting him do it himself.  
“What about Arya?” She asked, eager to change the subject. Sandor released a heavy sigh. “Gone.” Was his only answer. Despite their turbulent introduction, Effie hoped the girl was okay. She didn’t doubt Arya’s capability to keep herself safe, but she would have no time to mourn the only brother left to her. Without time to lament, Effie knew her grief would evolve into anger. The thought of Arya roaming the world with only anger for company was saddening. The world was too harsh on children.  
Her miserable thoughts were interrupted by a buzzing in her pocket. Effie’s heart shuddered to a momentary halt as she pulled Ramsay’s phone from her pocket and saw who was calling. “It’s Roose.” She muttered aloud, unthinkingly.  
“What?”   
“I stole Ramsay’s phone.” Without taking his eyes off the road, Sandor snatched the phone away and threw it out the open window. “Okay that is the second time I’ve lost a phone because of you.” She snapped.  
“You fucking idiot!” Sandor roared in reply. “You really think Roose Bolton lets his bastard go anywhere without a tracker? For all we know that phone could be the tracker and we’re being followed because of how fucking stupid you are.” His hands gripped the wheel tightly. Effie suspected he was imagining his hands around her throat. Saying nothing, she rolled the window back up and rested her head against the glass, no longer feeling strong enough to argue.

In the early hours of the morning, they crawled into a deserted car park of some café that was still open, or had been opened at a ridiculous time.  
“You can’t go out looking like that.” Sandor growled. Effie had barely noticed what she looked like. She’d lost her heels at some point during the struggle with Ramsay. Her clothes were torn and smeared with dirt and blood. In her bag she found a hairband and tied her hair up, and did her best to clean her face a bit. “Here.” Sandor mumbled, shoving a rucksack onto her lap. “It’s Jon’s shit. You’re too big for Arya’s clothes so they’ll have to do.” Effie pulled out a pair of jeans and a hoodie, then looked at Sandor meaningfully.  
“You think I haven’t seen a pair of tits before?” He rasped. She carried on staring. “Alright, alright.” Turning away, he climbed out of the car. Keeping one eye on his back, she stripped off the dress she’d been wearing and pulled on the hoodie and jeans, wincing as she eased them over the wound. There were a pair of trainers in the bag too which were only a size too big for her. Once she was done, she pulled the hood up and got out of the car. Nodding grimly, Sandor strode towards the café; his strides the length of two of hers. By the time they reached the door, Effie’s legs burned with the effort of keeping up.  
Only the waitress occupied the café, and continued studying her magazine as she and Sandor entered. “Keep your head down.” He muttered loud enough so only she could hear. Effie nodded and obeyed, too tired to even think about how much she hated taking orders. Sandor kept his eyes on the woman at the counter as he chose their seats. Effie sat with her back to the counter, refraining from wrinkling her nose at the layer of grease that covered the table. Her position allowed her a view of the car park, and she couldn’t help but gaze out at it; half expecting Roose’s car to pull up. Her sleep-deprived mind was twisting every fear that remained in her head together, creating a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. Even when Sandor sat down opposite her, she was too wrapped up in her terrible thoughts to notice.  
When a car pulled into the car park, she tensed and gripped the table, now oblivious to the filth on it. Her breath grew sharp and her eyes focused on nothing else but the car as it slammed to a halt. Somewhere far away, she could hear Sandor trying to talk to her, but she couldn’t make sense of what he was saying. When the driver got out, Effie gulped in air. It wasn’t someone she knew. She’d never seen him before in her life. He was just a dirty, gaunt-faced bloke, who didn’t even spare either of them a glance as he entered.  
“Fancy cooking me up some bacon Irri love?” He grinned at the waitress.  
“You get toast and coffee.” The waitress replied with a heavy Eastern European accent.  
“Not even if I gave you a tickle?” The man winked at her, and the waitress hid a smirk before glancing up at Effie and Sandor; blushing when she met Effie’s gaze.  
“Coffee and toast.” She repeated, abandoning her pursuer at the counter to serve Sandor and Effie coffee. Effie’s gaze remained on the man as he turned on the TV. She knew his kind, his look. He was a dealer. Effie had met enough of them to know. By the bags under his eyes, she could tell he’d been working all night. When the man sensed her gaze, Effie turned away; suddenly worried he might recognise her, even if she didn’t recognise him. Glancing up at Sandor, she found his gaze to be distracted, and he was frowning at the TV. Turning to look, Effie also wore a mask of confusion when she saw an image of herself staring back at her.  
“The diary of Effie Snow was turned into a police station in East Sussex this morning and has revealed that she has suffered through years of abuse. Some viewers may find this story distressing. Lysa Meadows reports.” The TV now showed a news reporter stood in front of the entrance to Barrowton House. Effie continued to watch; her mouth gaping open.  
“This is where it all started. The institute in which Effie Snow wrote her diary as a form of therapy, and it is no wonder. Her story is one of abuse and misery that has been covered up from the public for years. Before moving in with her current guardian, Effie lived in poverty on an estate with her brother, Ramsay Bolton. In her diary she describes several cases of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. Since the diary was discovered this morning, various witnesses have come forward. One of Ramsay’s previous partners has come forward and admitted to having also been abused by him.” What followed was a statement that Effie knew had come from Jeyne. Effie smiled to herself, feeling a sudden warmth swell inside her as she thought of what it must have taken for Jeyne to come forward.  
“When Effie was fourteen, she and her brother moved in with his father; esteemed businessman Roose Bolton. Her suffering didn’t end there. Roose agreed to take her in, but only for his own gain. Effie was forced into prostitution ever since she was twelve until her breakdown a year ago. Little is known of what occurred following her time at Barrowton House, though the school’s headmistress, Barbrey Dustin, has been taken in for questioning by the police. Ramsay Bolton has been arrested whilst Roose Bolton is under house arrest, the police issued a statement claiming it was unsafe for him to leave the premises at this time. Effie herself went missing yesterday and has not yet been found.” The news returned to the studio, and Effie tuned out. Turning back to Sandor, she saw he was almost smiling. Before she could ask what had amused him, the man at the counter released a low whistle. “No wonder crystal Meffie turned to drugs.” The man chuckled. Sandor snatched hold of her wrist before she could turn around.   
“What’s happening? What was that?” Effie hissed, glancing at the TV.  
“That was our insurance.” Sandor shrugged, gulping down his coffee.  
“Insurance? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She was starting to panic now. The last she’d known of the diary was that she had left it for Jeyne to find, yet near enough a year had gone by since then.  
“Do you think the Starks were working alone?” Sandor’s lip curled, as if he thought her to be stupid.  
“No. I know that they had help from Petyr Baelish.” Effie snarled the name.  
“Among others. The Tyrell’s are in on it too. Have been since before you ended up in the madhouse. You probably would have been in on it if it weren’t for Sansa getting killed, and everyone thinking you did it.”  
“I didn’t.” Effie growled.  
“No, but we thought you did. It made sense.” He said matter-of-factly.  
“Well you were suspicious of the wrong person. Baelish is the one that ratted you out. Ramsay told me.” A flicker of annoyance passed over Sandor’s face.  
“That rat means shit to me. We’ll see to him, soon enough. But that,” He nodded towards the TV “That was Margaery Tyrell’s work.” Effie’s breath caught in her throat. The last she’d seen of Margaery, she’d been screaming and hitting her in one of the bathrooms at Barrowton. She’d hated her. And now she had saved her.  
Swallowing the emotions that had swelled in her throat, Effie gazed out the window and watched as another car pulled into the car park. Again, purely out of instinct, she froze; clenching the mug of coffee between her hands so tight she winced in pain as it burned. This time, when the driver revealed himself, she did not relax. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she ducked her head down; pulling the hood up to shelter her face as best she could. Staring down at the table, she prayed that Skinner wouldn’t spot her.


	88. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's cause a little trouble.  
> Oh, you make me feel so weak.  
> I bet you kiss your knuckles.  
> Right before they touch my cheek.

“Evening Irri, Tickler.” She heard him say, almost cheerfully. Without turning her head, she watched him swagger over to them in her peripheral vision. “What’s on the menu this morning?”  
“Coffee and toast.” The waitress replied wearily, as if she’d grown bored of saying it to every dealer that came in. Effie made a mental note to tell Euron about this place. He’d be ecstatic to learn of this hideout if it came to beating down competition.  
“You heard about this crystal Meffie business yet?” She stiffened in her seat.  
“Nope.” Skinner replied sharply, clearly not wanting to talk about her anymore. She had knocked him out the last time they’d seen each other, and his disdain left her feeling sick.  
“They found her diary. Has quite a bit to say.” The Tickler chuckled.   
“Oh yeah? Like what?” No doubt Skinner couldn’t help but be intrigued.  
“Sexually abused prostitute apparently. As if there wasn’t one that hasn’t been. Still, quite a surprise. Talk about hiding in plain sight.” As a long silence followed, Effie held her breath. Unable to stop herself, she glanced over her shoulder.  
“She mention any names in this diary?” Skinner’s back was to her, but she could picture the worry on his face. She recalled writing his name down. She’d written everyone’s name down. The journal had been hers; her therapy, for all the good it did her.  
“They didn’t say much. Just that her brother had been arrested, his dad’s under house arrest. There was some teacher too. They said some witnesses had come forward as well.” The Tickler just shrugged it off, apparently oblivious to Skinner’s concern. Effie knew she should be pleased that Skinner was so worried. He’d used her as much as anyone, and she’d been underage too. She should hope he got what he deserved for all he’d put her through. But then her thoughts turned to Damon. She’d written about him too, how could she not have? If Skinner got caught, so could Damon. She never wanted to hurt him again.  
“Thought I told you to keep your head down?” Sandor growled at her, making her turn back to him.  
“Sorry.” She muttered. He glanced up towards the counter. “I’m going for a shit.” He said curtly. Effie just grimaced, then gripped her mug of cooling coffee when she realised he was leaving her alone.  
“Since when did you get actual customers?” She heard Skinner ask Irri. Swallowing nervously, Effie tried to distract herself by watching the news. After a moment, she found little comfort.  
“Breaking news now as three bodies were discovered in a forest on the border of Derbyshire. The culprit appears to be none other than Ramsay Bolton, mentioned earlier over the shocking discovery of his sister’s diary. The bodies have been identified as Jon Snow, missing person Theon Greyjoy, and Myranda Royce. His half-brother, Domeric Bolton, was also found to be in a critical condition and is currently receiving treatment in hospital. The motive for this violent attack is yet unknown.”  
Gasping for breath, Effie released a shocked whimper. Domeric was alive.   
“Holy shit.” Forgetting herself, Effie turned at the sound of Skinner’s shocked voice.  
“What is it?” The Tickler asked, confused by his disbelief.  
“That girl…Myranda…fucking hell…” By the time Effie realised she was staring, it was too late. As Skinner sensed her gaze, she tried to turn away. Their eyes met momentarily. She knew that was all it took.  
Sure enough, Skinner’s sharp intake of breath was audible even from where she sat, and what followed was the ominous sound of footsteps coming towards her. Moving quickly, Effie stood up and leapt the table onto Sandor’s vacant side. “I fucking knew it.” Skinner growled as the hood of her jumper slid back. Snarling at him, she snatched the keys from Sandor’s jacket pocket and dashed for the door. Skinner might have been strong and trained from his time in the army, but she was still faster. There was a good eight feet between them when she slammed into the door and sprinted across the car park. Unlocking the car, she leapt into the driver’s seat and took a deep breath to steady her hands before starting the car up. Skinner rammed into her window, yelling at her and slamming his palm against the glass. Effie didn’t listen to his words, but couldn’t resist giving him the finger as the tires spun and the vehicle lurched into action. She checked the rear-view mirror even when the café was far behind her. The road ahead was empty.

He seemed to always stay late at the office these days. With the recession only getting worse, he had investors to appease. Swarms of them. Nothing he couldn’t handle. In truth he was glad to be there alone; sat in his office staring across the city, imagining all the chaos he had caused with such a simple set of moves. He had avoided the worst with a single phone call, and his enemies had been knocked down by a single sweep. Petyr Baelish smiled down at the blinking lights of cars beneath him. When his phone began to ring he sighed, but answered it nonetheless.  
“What is it old friend?” He asked, smirking to himself.  
“I’d prefer the term ‘acquaintance’.” Varys argued, like he always did.  
“Have you got all the information you need?”  
“Considering the state of this dreadful situation, I doubt it will take much. But yes.” His old acquaintance said wearily.  
“Good. I want that boy well and truly done over.” Petyr curled his lip.  
“As romantic as it is that you would go to this level of revenge, perhaps you would remember that this hasn’t been easy for me. Unlike you, Petyr, Daenerys Targaryen was a true friend. Discovering her gruesome demise hurt me. Especially as it came from you.”  
“You wound me Varys. It was not I that killed your little friend, and the boy was only obeying orders. It was you that sent her on a death mission.” Petyr reminded him, knowing how much it would hurt.  
“I didn’t know.” Varys began to sound flustered now.  
“Well you should have asked.” Petyr scolded. “Stick to what you know; interrogating crazy little…” He was cut off by the sound of the door to his office opening and closing. Before he could turn to discover the identity of the intruder, a gunshot rang out. The bullet bit through his hand remorselessly, and Petyr swore and growled in pain. His phone clattered to the floor as he clutched his wounded hand. Another bullet soon followed targeting his leg and forcing him to his knees. He only saw a pair of trainers as the attacker walked over to him, pausing only to stamp down on the phone. He muttered another curse as he heard it crunch.     
“Evening boss.” Looking up, he saw Effie glaring down at him. There was no gleeful malice. No mocking smirk. Just a cold, relentless hatred. “Working late?”  
“What are you doing here?” He asked, gritting his teeth against the pain. Not having the upper hand was not something he was practised at and it made him uncomfortable. The gun that was aimed at his head only added to his discomfort.   
“Surprised are you?” She asked coldly. “I thought you’d be glad to see me. You were helping them after all.”   
“I was, yes.” He admitted, feeling no need to lie. Something told him that lying wouldn’t save him now.  
“Then why did you betray them? Why did you hand them over to the Boltons?” Effie growled; the once together girl that had worked in his office replaced by some feral creature. He could imagine Ramsay being much the same once in hunter mode. Petyr hissed in pain as she pressed her foot down on the wound in his leg. “Tell me now.”  
“We once spoke about the dangers of this firm going under, after I revealed that I knew you were spying on me for Mr Bolton. He was of little threat. I knew too much about him, additionally I could bankrupt him if needs be. But I never realised until quite recently that Roose Bolton wasn’t the only person you were spying for.” He had to refrain from smirking as a flicker of doubt washed over Effie’s face. “Did you really think one of my social gatherings would lack such security that I wouldn’t notice you sneaking off? I had a firm hand on Roose Bolton, though he’d deny it, but Euron Greyjoy…any information he received would put this firm in jeopardy. I’m afraid I just couldn’t take that risk. So I informed Roose Bolton of your whereabouts. I needed what little trust the Boltons could give for my protection.”     
“So you betrayed them. What would Sansa say?” Effie sneered.  
“She would know that risks had to be taken. She would know people had to die. She had already lost so much. I think it has all turned out quite well, thanks to that diary of yours.”   
“You’re welcome.” She said dryly. “But you’ve made things rather difficult for me now. You see, Euron wasn’t using me to spy on you. Euron wasn’t using me at all. We came up with a little list. A hit list, if you will, that would be mutually beneficial. Unfortunately for you, I believe you’re number three.”

She left the body where it was for the cleaners to find when they came in tomorrow morning. Of course she’d be gone by then, but she took a moment to pull herself together; sitting down at his desk and lighting a fag before staring out towards the city. All the way up here, no one would see her. No one knew where she was, or what she was. The notion was oddly calming and she smiled to herself before picking up the phone with her gloved hand and dialling Euron’s number. “Baelish is gone.” She said, skipping greetings.   
“Nicely done. What’s all this about a diary? You’re all over the news for all the wrong reasons sweetheart.” He chuckled. She could hear a TV playing in the background. Effie laughed half-heartedly. “Apparently there was some insurance scheme. Domeric took me. Apparently I wasn’t the only one working undercover.”  
“Domeric?” Euron echoed as if he didn’t quite believe it. “Speaking of, I hear he’s still alive.”  
“Ramsay shot him, but I think he’s paralysed. He told me he couldn’t feel his legs.”   
“He’s a Bolton.”  
“He’s no threat.” Effie argued, gritting her teeth.  
“He is to me.” Euron growled back. She knew to tread carefully now; the warning in his voice was tangible.  
“I’ll get the rest. Domeric has already lost everything. He’ll be broken, in mind and body. Let him live with that for the rest of his life. As for being a threat, he’d only go for you if he knew you had me.” Effie held back a sigh, annoyed that she had to explain it all to him. But she couldn’t let him know how much she cared. He already knew about Damon and Jamie, she couldn’t risk Domeric too.  
“And he won’t know that, will he?” She could hear the smile in his voice.  
“No.” Effie replied quietly. Her gaze was fixed into a trance; the city lights blurring in her vision.  
“And why is that?” She took a deep breath.  
“Because I’ll be dead.”


	89. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sick of all these people talking,  
> Sick of all this noise.  
> Tired of all these cameras flashing,  
> Sick of being poised

He grinned as he cranked the string back and readied the quiver. As she whined and panted in fear, Joffrey’s smile widened.  
“Please…please don’t kill me…” The whore sobbed. That made him grit his teeth and purse his lips in disdain; reminding him of the one condition his grandfather had given.  
“I can’t kill you. Not because your life is actually worth anything, but because I won’t get another for a little while. I don’t want to ruin my own fun.” Lovingly placing his crossbow on the bed, he stood and headed towards the whore; grabbing her jaw and forcing her head up as she panicked ceaselessly. Her attempts at escape were futile due to the meat hook she was chained to that was attached to the ceiling. Joff had had Gregor put one up, and it had proved most useful. Ever since Effie, he’d never wanted to leave a whore running loose again. They were no fun if they could hurt him.  
“You know how I like to hear you scream Daisy, but with the fucking reporters so close mother says I just can’t chance it. Normally I wouldn’t listen to her. All women are stupid and weak, even her, but grandfather will probably beat me himself.” With a grimace, he pulled out a ball gag from the nearest drawer and forced it into the whore’s mouth until she began to choke on it, before fastening it behind her head.  
“There we go. Now we can begin.” He smirked at her and turned away. Then stopped; pinned to the spot by the tiny red beam that darted over his chest, moving upwards towards his face.  
“What the…” He was cut off by a low whistle, then a sharp thud as the tranquiliser dart found its mark and buried into his neck. “Fuck.” Joff hissed, before his vision blurred and he drooped to the floor.

“You have two choices. Stay and watch, then run and say nothing. Or I kill you.” Effie shrugged, thinking little of death.  
“C…can I stay?” Daisy stared at her, her eyes wide in disbelief; barely recognising the girl she’d been locked in a room with almost five years ago.  
“Sure.” Effie replied flatly, past caring what her old acquaintance thought. Her attention was already fully focused on the monstrous brat that she had stripped and strung up on the meat hook she had found Daisy attached too. Waiting until Joffrey was half awake, Effie bent under the bed and dusted off the riding crop he had once used on herself, and Sansa before her. When she was certain Joffrey was about to open his eyes, she delivered a sharp blow to the backs of his thighs. His eyes snapped open fully, and he desperately tried to scream through the ball gag.  
“Now, now. We don’t want to wake your mother.” Effie crooned, stroking his cheek with the end of the riding crop. She had been lenient with Petyr; killing him coldly and quickly, adopting his unyielding manner. But Joffrey was different. He was petulant and irritating. He deserved to be mocked. Effie tried to deny the joy it gave her; fearing she would seem too much like Ramsay if she admitted to taking pleasure in it.  
Joffrey met her gaze; his eyes wild and shining with fear in the dimly lit room.  
Effie smiled back. “Long time no see Joff.” He began to try and fight his restraints, eyeing the crop warily. The speed with which Effie moved caught him unawares though, and he released a strangled cry as she struck one of his buttocks. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it when the roles are reversed? I could always put the crop down and knock your nose back into place if you’d prefer.” She smirked. The struggling ceased instantly, making Effie chuckle. “I thought so. Don’t worry, this won’t last long. I’ve got places to be, and your mother will be up soon. Such a shame I won’t be around to see her reaction.” Lowering the whip, Effie walked to the bed and sat down beside Daisy. “You see Joff, I want to hurt several members of your family. But I can’t risk killing them all, and there was only one other way I could cause them such grief. In fact, this way seemed much more fun.” Smiling, Effie rolled back on the bed nonchalantly and picked up Joff’s phone from the bedside table. It was already unlocked from his earlier use of it, and she searched through the photos.  
“Hm, quite a collection. I’m lucky I got out when I did.” Offering him a pleasant smile, Effie began to pick the best of the lot. “Don’t mind if I use one of yours do you Daisy? There are some without your face in if you’d prefer.” She glanced over at the bewildered woman.  
“Um…sure…” Daisy consented, too afraid to do otherwise.  
“Great!” Effie replied brightly. “We just have a few more to add to the album.” Raising the camera, she took three of the strung up Joffrey; everything on display for all the world to see. “I think that one’s for Instagram, don’t you?” She uploaded it before he could release a strangled sob. “Now for your facebook page. I’m thinking an entire album. ‘Wank bank’ makes for a great title, wouldn’t you agree Daisy?” The woman just nodded, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Effie didn’t bother to wait and see which she chose, tossing the phone aside and returning to stand in front of Joffrey. “That was for your grandfather. That stain will never wash out. Such a shame I couldn’t cause him further humiliation. My diary only scratched the surface. I tried not to go into too much detail over what he was like; what he wanted me to do. There was a headline once, saying I was the first person to make him smile in public. What that picture didn’t show was why.” Effie sneered. Joffrey avoided her gaze, not wanting her to glimpse the humiliation in them; perhaps vainly hoping she hadn’t seen it already. “It wasn’t just him though. Your Uncle Tyrion was my first ever customer, with Roose at least. He was good to me though. He didn’t touch me until he considered me old enough. Jaime was quite a different story, though he didn’t touch me until your mother refused to fuck him without his right hand. For months I had to put up with him yelling your mummy’s name every time he finished.” That made him look up; confused and horrified. “Oh dear, you didn’t know about Uncle Jaime? Or should you call him father?” Effie smirked at the horror on his face. “Speaking of, your other father, let’s call him the skirt, just couldn’t resist a pretty young whore. I suppose that was the only time I ever pitied your mother. He was always drunk and rough, though I suppose you had to get that from somewhere.” She grimaced at the memory, and had to suppress a shudder as she recalled how Robert’s callused hands would grope at her whenever Myrcella’s back was turned.  
“Then there was your mother. How she loathed me. The feeling was mutual. It was her idea to pay Gregor by giving me to him for a night, though we didn’t last a night. Barely lasted five minutes. That was how long I could hold back the screams for, but the pain was too much after that. Ramsay said he could hear my bones breaking from his room, though how he’d heard that above the screaming I’ll never know.” Effie’s gaze wandered for a moment. She could hardly remember the incident. The memories were blurred and smeared by the pain. Only Gregor’s roar of anger remained; a lucid memory that still haunted her, even with him dead.  
“I needed him gone. I had to kill him. But your mother…she deserves worse than her own death.” Breaking out of her nightmares, Effie looked down at the crossbow beside her. It was heavier than she’d expected.  
“She deserves yours.” Joffrey’s fearful, pleading cry was cut short when the quiver pierced his heart.

“Husband?” Despite how tired she was from staying up the whole night, Walda was still painfully aware of how high her voice was as she tentatively stepped inside the gloomy office. Her husband was where he had been sitting since the early hours of yesterday morning; at his desk, his head resting on one hand while the other tapped at his computer, or phone, or wielded a pen. His eyebrows were pulled together; creating the only crease she had ever seen on his face. At the sound of her squeak, Roose raised his head an inch but did not look at her.  
“You need to sleep.” She’d wanted it to sound commanding, but her husband scared the courage from her. She loved him, of course she did, but he had the ability to make the room turn cold with the slightest look. Even her father was cowed by him. “Or I can make you some food? You haven’t eaten anything…”  
“I’m fine, thank you Walda.” He said politely, still not glancing up. “Go to bed.” His command was quiet, though not gentle. Ducking her head, she obeyed without question; backing from the room and closing the door behind them. Releasing a resigned sigh, she climbed the stairs and shuffled along to the bedroom she doubted she would share with her husband tonight. As Walda readied herself for bed, she began to feel oddly uneasy; the truth of the days troubles no longer being hidden by menial tasks she had set herself throughout the day by way of distraction.  
Walda, despite what her cousins and sisters had claimed, was not stupid. Her husband and his sons had tried to hide it from her, but she’d worked it out soon enough. She knew they were killers. It didn’t frighten her, if anything it made her feel oddly safe. But now, all she could see was that single crease between her husband’s brows. Her husband was worried, and she could instantly feel the shields around her weakening. Instinctively covering her large belly with her hands, Walda crawled beneath the soft covers and pulled them up over her head; putting a barrier between her baby and the world.  
There were things she no longer understood. She’d seen on the news that Ramsay was in jail, and Domeric in hospital. They were under house arrest, and Effie was missing. Then there was the diary that had been found. It had said such awful things. In a moment of rare courage, Walda had asked her husband if it were all true. “You must not worry about it. Effie was depressed, and my doctor tells me she suffered from female hysteria.” He meant that she was insane; that it was all lies. But the Effie she knew had been so together, so composed. A business woman, nonetheless. Walda didn’t wish to doubt her husband, but something about it didn’t add up.  
When a creaking floorboard disturbed her peaceful cocoon, Walda tensed. From beyond the sheets, she could hear a whisper of footsteps ghosting over the carpet. They were quick, quicker than her husband’s. But before she could sit up, the intruder leapt upon the bed and scrabbled around until they found a hold. The scream died in Walda’s throat as the duvet was pressed down over her face.  
“I’m sorry.” She recognised the voice instantly. “I could be crueller. I have no wish to harm you, or your baby. But I do have to kill you.” Through her hysteria, Walda thought she heard a broken sob. “You don’t understand and you’ll never know why, but I have to.” Effie’s mournful tones were the last she heard. Clutching her stomach in silent hope her unborn child would forgive her, Walda surrendered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost at the end now! Just a heads up that I'll be updating pretty regularly over the next four days as I aim to get the story finished on Friday **cries**


	90. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm headed straight for the castle  
> They wanna make me their queen  
> And there's an old man sitting on the throne   
> That's saying that I probably shouldn't be so mean

Effie bolted from the room; taking the stairs two at a time as she raced up to her floor. Shutting and locking the bathroom door behind her, she avoided meeting her own gaze in the mirror. Pausing, she took a deep breath; swallowing the nauseating sobs that were choking her.  
It felt odd to turn on the shower and strip down to her bare skin. The hands that were now busying themselves as she shampooed her hair did not belong to those of a killer. They were the same hands that she had used to punch girls at school, or lift a bottle of vodka to her lips, or scar her arms. Yet now, they’d done such terrible things. Things Effie had never imagined herself capable of doing. As the water relentlessly poured over her, Effie wept as it dawned on her that she could never go back. No matter how hard she scrubbed at her flesh, she could not shed the skin of the person she had become. She had never thought of it this way; had never considered how much it would hurt, and how deep the scars would be. All she’d known were Euron’s words, and how powerful she’d felt. Drunk on control, she’d made the agreement. Out of her head as always. And here she was again; weeping alone, with hatred and regret as her only companions.  
_“It’s too late now.”  
_ “Leave me alone!” Effie cried as Euron’s voice sounded inside her head.  
_“But sweetheart, you’re almost finished.”  
_ That much was true. This life that had caused her so much pain and only a little joy, would soon be finished with. With Euron, she _could_ shred her skin. Undoubtedly, there’d be more killing, more pain. But she’d be free of the faces that still haunted her. They belonged to Effie Snow, so they could die with her.

When he finally awoke, she was bored out of her mind. Effie sat at his desk, feet up on the polished wood, with a fag in one hand and a bottle of his finest whiskey in the other. A low groan alerted her to his consciousness. “Good morning.” Effie smirked as Roose raised his head as far as he could manage. She had bound him up, and he was lying face down on the couch with his hands behind his back, his feet tied to them; the position made his old limbs look odd. There was no possible way for him to untie himself. He was helpless in his own home, and completely at her mercy.  
“Effie.” Roose muttered, sounding neither surprised nor angry. It should have irritated her; she longed to torment and torture him as he had her, but that was not Roose’s nature. The best she could hope for was that he died knowing about everything he put her through.  
“Surprised to see me?” She asked, unperturbed by his soulless reaction.  
“Of course.” Roose’s voice remained toneless, and he fixed her with his cold gaze. Taking a pull of her cigarette, Effie paused to wonder whether or not Roose knew of her alliance with Euron. Petyr had never mentioned telling him. He’d required the Bolton’s protection, for what good it did him, but he’d only told them about the Starks conspiracy.   
“This is quite a turn of events. Who’d ever have thought that one day it would be me on this side of the desk, determining _your_ fate.” Effie chuckled to herself. “I’m sorry about all that business with the diary. That was supposed to remain private. It’s caused me quite a bit of trouble.”  
“It was necessary, I’m sure. The Starks had a solid insurance policy. It’s admirable, truly.” Roose nodded slowly, despite his restricted position.  
“Oh, I’m not with the Starks.” Effie smirked as Roose raised a confused brow. “All this time, and you had no idea. Not the slightest notion.”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Domeric wasn’t the only spy in your home, Mr Bolton.” She spat out his name like venom on her tongue. “Perhaps if for a second you had ceased to see me as just a dumb whore, you might have saved yourself quite a bit of trouble. One thing you observed correctly though,” Her smile widened and she took a swig of whiskey. “I really _was_ the worst investment you ever made, just as you were mine.” The ghost of a smile passed over Roose’s face; his lips twisting into an uncharacteristic smirk.  
“You’re right. So who else have you killed? I assume I’m not alone.”  
“Well, there was Gregor, then Locke and his dogs, for starters. I assume you’ve found the body by now?” She relished the raised eyebrows that betrayed his surprise.  
“So it was you that sent the text. That was foolish of you. I had told Locke to patrol the borders in case the Starks came for a visit.”   
“It all seems to have worked in my favour.” Effie reminded him. His thin lips pursed shut at that. “Then there was Theon. He was a part of the deal I made with Euron.” Roose’s eyes narrowed as he put the pieces together. “That’s right. I take it Ramsay told you what happened the night I was…kidnapped?” Effie laughed again.  
“Indeed he did.”  
“And you really thought Euron would be appeased with some light humiliation? Sansa Stark’s death caused quite a bit of trouble for him, as Ramsay used his gear. Then of course his family demanded recompense for Theon. Taking me was just the start of what he had planned.” Standing, Effie stubbed out her fag on his phone and walked over to him; lighting another as she began to empty the contents of the whiskey bottle over Roose’s restrained form. “You see, the thing you need to know about Euron is that he’s not just any old dealer. Anyone with half a brain can be a dealer. He and his workers weren’t a business, they’re a family. A cult, in truth, though no one dares mention it. And what every cult needs is a leader; a strong, charismatic leader. That’s Euron, if you haven’t guessed. The man’s like a fucking drug; intoxicating.”   
“And I suppose you are a part of this cult now?” Roose asked, squirming slightly as the liquid seeped into his clothing.  
“I’m not just a part of it.” Effie snarled. “Euron and I had an agreement. He’s taught me how to kill, and how to survive. He wants you all dead, Theon too. That agreement was mutually beneficial. But what he also wanted was me. A partner in crime.” The bottle of whiskey had emptied, and so she found another and began to splash it around the room. “Can you imagine? After all that time thinking that no one would ever want me. After being constantly seen as an investment, a commodity, a dumb whore. Someone finally wanted me, and they could help me get what I want.”  
“And what is it you want?” Roose asked scathingly.  
“I thought that was obvious.” As if to make a point, she poured whiskey over his head; waiting until he hissed in pain as the alcohol burned his eyes. “Anyway, I didn’t get to finish. So there was Theon, Myranda’s gone too, though not by me. I finished with Joffrey just this morning. Brought about the end to the Lannister’s position in one go, and left Cersei a little gift while I was at it.” Her smile died upon her lips as she considered the next. “Then there was Walda, after I made sure you wouldn’t disturb me for a while.”   
“Walda?” Roose raised an eyebrow again; his lips turned down more from disappointment then grief.  
“Yes.” Effie knew she could have gloated. She could have said how the woman never heard her coming, how she struggled beneath the sheets. But such thoughts made a lump form in her throat, so she remained silent. Fortunately, so did Roose.  
“Now it’s your turn.” She gritted her teeth and returned to the desk, taking another pull of her cigarette to steady herself. “You made my life a living hell. From the day I walked in to find you in our lounge, and I thought you would just be another one of Ramsay’s bad deals. It turned out you were something far worse. You took me from my home, and forced me into a life I didn’t want.”  
“It would have been the same…”  
“No!” She barked, leaping to her feet and slamming her hand down on the desk. “I am talking now. It is my turn. It is my time. You and my fucking brother, you thought nothing of using me for yourselves like I was a fucking animal. Your method of payment. I could go into the gory details, but something tells me you don’t care. I’d be wasting my breath trying to appeal to your better nature, because you don’t have one. But what I did want to say was that, despite everything that’s happened to me, I know now.”  
“Know what?” Roose’s lips twisted at the emotion on her face.  
“It was never my fault. None of it. You, Ramsay, my mother, Damon I suppose, you all broke me. Trod me down into the dirt until I snapped. You made me this way. It doesn’t make the things I’ve done any less terrible, I know that. But it’ll make me smile as I watch you burn.” Taking a final pull of her cigarette, Effie walked towards him again.  
“I think that this is the first time I’ve noticed, Effie.” Roose’s voice remained quiet. There was no fear in it. Effie wondered if he would scream at all, or even if he would burn. It seemed impossible that fire could melt Roose’s icy manner.  
“Noticed what?” She asked, fag poised and ready.  
“How like your brother you are.” He said softly, his lips twisting into that freakish smile for the last time. After only a moment, Effie smiled back. “See you in hell.” She grinned, before flicking the cigarette onto the sofa.  
Her earlier questions were answered. As Roose’s skin melted and blackened, Effie’s smile widened. When his screams rose to an unhuman pitch, she turned away; content with her work.

The place she’d once called home burned to the ground, but Effie didn’t linger to see it. Throwing the bag she’d packed into Roose’s car, she took a back exit onto the country lanes that eventually opened up onto a main road. Effie knew her way from there. Slumping back against the seat, she took a few deep breaths before glancing over at the bag beside her. She hadn’t needed much, but there were some things she couldn’t leave to be consumed by flames. Upon feeling she was far enough away, Effie pulled over onto a layby. With a heavy sigh, she looked over at the bag for a second time. Then a third. Then she tapped idly on the wheel. Her hands, her killing hands, betrayed her. They crept over to the bag and pulled out the last thing she had hurriedly stuffed inside of it.  
The box was a little worn now. The picture of the white horse had faded slightly, and was blanketed in a thin layer of dust which Effie wiped off with the sleeve of her jumper. Opening it up, she found the small teddy as well as a pair of earrings that Ramsay had gifted her. They had remained undisturbed; unknowing what horrors she had seen and committed. “You have no idea.” She muttered, fingering the bear lightly; afraid of tainting it.  
She should throw them away. Leave them on the side of the road for the elements to destroy. They were only gifts from Ramsay, and Ramsay was as good as dead to her now. He wasn’t the brother that had protected and raised her anymore, if he’d ever been that at all.  
And yet all windows and doors remained closed. Effie refused to cry, though tears burned her eyes. Her time was almost up, and there was none spare for grief over a life long dead. Placing the lid on the box, she gently returned it to the bag and set it down on the passenger seat beside her.  
“Let’s go home.” She muttered.


	91. Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was too quiet, or she was too loud,  
> She took things too seriously, or not seriously at all,  
> She was too sensitive, or too cold hearted,  
> She hated with every fiber of her being,  
> or loved with every piece of her heart.

She hid the car in plain sight; the car park where she had first seen it years ago. To ensure she'd never see it again, she left the doors unlocked and the keys in the ignition. Vaguely recalling thinking that someone would steal this car before its owner returned, Effie smiled to herself at the thought that her innocent self had been right about something.  
Taking only the bag and slinging it over her shoulder, Effie paused to look around the deserted car park. The last time she’d been here, Ramsay had been the only one that could afford a car, and it seemed as though nothing had changed. Time stood still on the estate. Unless the government passed a new law that affected them, or threatened to revoke benefits, the outside world didn’t disturb the urban jungle that had once been the only place she knew. Its solitude had had its downsides; if its inhabitants had mattered more then perhaps social services would have noticed the scrawny girl with belt marks on her arse and constellations of bruises across her skin. But here and now, the solitude was perfect. A safe haven amongst a world she had seen far too much of. The air reeked of pot and pollution, and the taste of a life long dead was almost tangible. There was a part of her that longed to reach out and take it all back; to turn back all those years until nothing had happened. What Ramsay had done, and made her do, was awful. She was no longer blind to that. But her innocence had been sacrificed for this painful sight. In that moment, stood staring up at her old home, Effie would have given anything to have her innocence back.  
Wandering slowly towards the tower-block, Effie allowed herself a moment’s weakness; dwelling on and wishing for a simpler life for one last time. Climbing the stairs, she watched her pale hand hovering over the rail. Something prevented her from touching it; as though she were already a ghost, unable to reach the real world. Watching this unmoving place, unnoticed and unseen.  
To her surprise, she found that counting the flights of stairs was unnecessary. It scared her how, after so much had happened and so much time had passed, she remembered the journey to her and Ramsay’s flat as if she had never been away. As she climbed, Effie sought out familiar surroundings. The graffiti on the walls. A crack in one of the steps. The crooked part of the railing. They were like old friends she hadn’t realised she’d missed. All the hidden habits rose to the surface as she reached their floor; turning her head first to the right, then to the left, checking in case there was someone she didn’t know or didn’t like the look of. Though trained, and now a proven killer, Effie still found herself ready to run. But the stretch of open corridor remained empty, besides the pigeons that scavenged for scraps of food. She wondered if they were the same pigeons she’d known when she was younger. Unable to stop the solemn smile that came to her lips, Effie turned right and headed towards her old flat, counting the numbers as she went. When she reached number six, she stopped. Her smile widened when she saw the faint outline of a number nine scrawled next to it in Sharpie; faded from years of people trying to scrub it off, all the while spitting curses at the kids who’d put it there. Reaching out a hand, Effie’s fingers only brushed the faded number before the door was thrown open.  
“For fuck sakes, fucking thing.” A woman spat at a buggy as she tried to manoeuvre it out of the narrow doorway without hurting the child strapped inside it. The girl could only have been a few years older than Effie, and had a face that suggested she might have once been pretty, but the years had weathered away at her looks; leaving a permanently pinched look. Effie stared at the familiar face; the tired, mean eyes that she had hated and feared.  
“Can I help you?” Pia snapped at her, clearly wanting to be on her way. Effie’s mouth opened and closed as she searched for words. There was no glimpse of recognition in Pia’s eyes. Effie had never really thought of the girls that had made her time at secondary school so awful. What had they thought when they had seen her in newspapers and magazines? They must have recognised her. Had they still thought of her as Effie the slut then? Had they still bitched about her? Or did they envy her?  
“You fucking deaf or something?” Effie realised she still had said nothing for a long while, and resorted to averting her gaze to the apartment next door.  
“There was an old lady, she lived next door to you. I was just wondering if she’s still around.” She clenched her hands into fists, fearing Pia’s answer.  
“No. She died about a year ago. I should be the one to know. Could smell her even from my living room.” Pia replied, wrinkling her nose.  
“Oh.” Effie’s voice was barely audible, and she looked over at Mrs Hornwood’s door again; longing to hear the doddery shuffle from the other side. It made her heart hurt to know that she’d died alone. No one had visited her after Effie left. There was no one for her to spoil, or tell stories to, or make cold cups of tea for.  
“Were you family?” To her surprise, Pia’s voice had softened. It was then Effie realised that her cheeks were wet with tears. Hurriedly wiping them away, she looked at Pia again and forced herself to smile. “No. Just an old friend.” Pia nodded, pretending to understand, then shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. The child in the pram rattled a toy at Effie, and gurgled merrily. “Is she yours?” Effie asked. The girl must have been no younger than two, which meant Pia must have fallen pregnant in her last year of secondary school.  
“Yeah.” Pia said, suddenly unsure. Effie understood her uncertainty. It was rare for someone on the estate to talk to you for longer than a few minutes, unless they wanted to mug you.  
“She must make you very happy.” Effie said, smiling down at the chubby toddler. Pia remained silent; always keeping her gaze on Effie.  
“Do I know you?” Pia asked, her eyes narrowing.  
“No.” Effie replied quickly, stepping aside so she could let Pia go. “It was nice to meet you.” She had to hold back laughter as she said the words.   
“Right. Sorry about the old woman.” Pia steered the buggy out into the corridor, already distracted by her motherly duties.  
“That’s okay.” Effie said, though she was already gone. “I forgive you.” She added, too quiet for Pia to hear.

It was fortunate that her old habits were still intact, and that she knew to search for a key beneath the worn, mould infested doormat. Effie grimaced as her hand slid beneath it, and came out slick with black and green. Trying to convince herself that the nausea was due to the mould was futile. The tight feeling in her throat, and the writhing in her stomach had settled in long before she’d reached the front door. Fingering the key nervously, she took a deep breath before letting herself inside.  
It was no different. The same darkness. The same stench of pain, fear, and narcotics. The acrid scent of alcohol tainted the air too. Until now, she’d been so strong. So powerful. Now she felt herself withering away; back to that terrified twelve year old self. Effie’s breath caught in her throat, and her mouth was set slightly open, her lips trembling. Swallowing nervously, she forced herself to take a step forward. Then another. Then another, until she reached the room they had once so laughably called a lounge. The carpet beneath her feet was cold with damp. She could taste the decay on her tongue. How had she ever lived like this? How had this ever been all she’d known? Fear and misery. How had she made it this far?  
Upon spotting the still figure strewn across the sofa, she felt as if she’d never been away at all. There was a ridiculous moment when she’d forgotten all that had happened; where she thought she’d simply returned home from a day at school, where she’d hidden from bullies with only Gendry for company. Absurdly, she found herself wanting to call out her brother’s name, having to remind herself he would not answer. He wouldn’t save her. He never had.  
Despite her mother’s still form, Effie was still too afraid to approach her. She couldn’t bring herself to accept they were in the same room. Instead, she distracted herself by circling the perimeter of the dank room; always keeping one eye on her unconscious mother. Once again finding herself unable to touch anything, Effie inspected the filth that littered her childhood home. Needles dotted the shelves and floor. White powder was scattered over every surface, waiting to be gathered and snorted once the monster awoke. It would be waiting a long while. If she’d glimpsed herself in a mirror in that moment, Effie would have been shocked by the mournful, fraught look on her face. Before tears could burn her eyes however, she trod on something that cracked and crunched beneath her weight, and looked down to see her foot covering a photo frame. She retracted her step quickly, as if the broken glass was burning through the soles of her shoes. Frowning, Effie stared down at the murky frame. Slowly, she crouched down and wiped away the layer of powder to reveal the youthful, smiling faces of herself and Ramsay. Effie choked back a sob as she lifted the photograph from amongst its bed of filth. Allowing the tears to fall, she clutched it in shaking hands. “I want to go back.” She whispered. “I want to go back to being you.” She glanced over at her mother then, for once not seeing her as one of the monsters, but as her mother. Still clutching the photo, Effie stood up and moved towards the prostrate body. “I’m sorry.” The words poured from her mouth like the tears from her eyes. “It’s me. It’s always been me. I look like him, don’t I? I know you don’t know. But I do. You always said I was dangerous. You were right.” The next words were released as a mournful wail. “You should have killed me. Ramsay should have let me die.”   
Her mother’s only reply was a muffled snore. Effie set the photo down on the sofa beside her mother’s body, then her focus turned to the doorway at the far end of the room.  
There, in that room. That was where it happened. She could hear them now; all the faces, more than ever. They were in there, calling to her. Effie knew that if she went inside, she’d know. All those years of never knowing what had happened. The gap in her timeline. The hole inside of her. She could feel them, if she went inside. She’d understand then. She’d know what happened that night, all those years ago, when she was twelve. The night they’d left home. The night Ramsay had taken the first shred of innocence, and he’d never stopped since.  
She wanted to know. She needed to remember.  
“Where are you going?” His voice was no longer inside her head. Without turning, she knew he was behind her. Effie was torn between her future and her past. The present was no longer an option. Perhaps it never had been.  
“I have to know. I have to remember.” She told him, her voice firm and strong despite the tears that were suffocating her and burning her cheeks.  
“No, you don’t sweetheart.” He crooned. “It’s almost over.”  
“I’m not scared.” Effie told herself, told Euron, told her mother, told the faces. “I’m not scared. I want to be scared.” She took a step towards the room, her hands balled into shaking fists. “I want to remember!” Her breaths came sharp and quick. Her heart raced in her chest, so fast it frightened her. “I need to remember!” Effie screamed.  
Then Euron caught her; wrapped his strong arms around her waist and buried his head between her neck and shoulder. Instantly, her breathing steady. The faces receded. The stench of the room made her gag, and her tears dried upon her sore cheeks. The panic and resolution fled her, and in its place settled a terrible nothingness. Turning in his arms, Effie looked up at him; her eyes fixed on his. With a sad, understanding smile, Euron leant in and kissed her. Hard. His tongue tasting for any essence of hurt of fear that might remain. When he found none, he pulled back.  
“Are you ready, sweetness?” He asked gently, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.  
“Yes. I’m ready.” Effie’s tone was lifeless; resigned to her fate.  
“Kneel for me.” Without hesitation, Effie obliged. She didn’t even flinch as Euron readied his gun.


	92. Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My ghost, where'd you go?  
> I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me  
> My ghost, where'd you go?  
> What happened to the soul that you used to be?

When the door to his cell swung open with the sickening scrape of metal on wood, Ramsay sat up. It was not a meal time, which meant they wanted him for some other reason. With a curled lip and hate-filled eyes, he looked up at the prison guard; ready for the mocking verbal abuse that came whenever a guard had something to do to him. The other prisoners were worse though. Hated as he was, Ramsay wasn’t allowed out when the others were, but it didn’t stop them from shouting and heckling him. They called him names, sometimes forming a chorus and chanting the lyrics to ‘Pimp’ by 50 Cent. The more educated inmates would quote extracts from ‘Lolita’ as they passed his cell. They’d mock until Ramsay was screaming; roaring threats and curses at them. Then they’d all walk away laughing. He’d once heard long ago, while living on the estate, that paedophiles and rapists were the most hated in prisons; considered scum of the earth even by the inmates. In their eyes, he was both. Probably worse.  
_But I’m not._  
He could try to tell them; to scream it at them that it was all a lie. He had lied to protect his little sister. It was another mistake he’d made, and he spent his nights longing to go back. _I should have left her there_ he would mutter to himself at night. _I should have let her die._  
The guard stepped inside the small cell he had all to himself. Ramsay waited, but no mocking came. There wasn’t even an amused smirk when another guard wheeled a wheelchair into his room. Instantly, Ramsay began to struggle away. He hated that fucking thing. It was more humiliating than all their words and songs combined. The chair served as a mortifying reminder of what the bitch had done; to him, to his pet, to his world. Every night, he was haunted by her words; “ _I want to make your life as miserable as you’ve made mine. I’m going to destroy everything you’ve earned, and everything you’ve cared about.”_  
Ungrateful bitch.  
Despite Ramsay’s ruined leg, it still took three of them to overpower him. Once strapped in and handcuffed, he resumed his sullen silence. It was not an acceptance of his humiliating state, merely a way to hope the other prisoners wouldn’t hear as he was wheeled to wherever the guards were taking him. Usually, one of the loathsome screw’s would whistle to alert them of his presence, but they too remained silent. Frowning, Ramsay glanced up at one of them. The guard didn’t look at him. It was then that he knew something was amiss.  
Unable to attempt an escape, Ramsay looked around as he was wheeled through the prison. He was being taken further towards the outside world than he had ever been since being condemned, and for a ridiculous moment thought he was on his way to freedom. Then he remembered he’d never be free; the guards reminded him of that daily. Sure enough, he was driven into a small, dark room with a mirror along one side. An interrogation room, though there was nothing left for them to interrogate him over. Upon learning of his father’s death, Ramsay had begun to answer their questions truthfully. He was ruined, his father was dead, his home destroyed. Reek was dead. Even Myranda. He had nothing left to hide.  
An officer was already sat waiting for him at the table; hands twisted together, an almost solemn look on his face.  
“Mr Bolton.” Ramsay gave a slight nod. “Two bodies were found yesterday in the flat rented by your mother. It is believed that the bodies are that of your mother, and your sister, Effie Snow.” Ramsay’s sullen expression dropped into shocked confusion. He sat in the chair; motionless, gripping tightly to the arms of it until his knuckles turned white. Not caring about his reaction, the officer continued. “Despite your incarceration, you are the only known member of family. We require you to confirm the identities of the bodies. The state of them makes it somewhat difficult to be sure.”  
The words became a dull lull; a fly buzzing around in the room somewhere. He’d thought it was all over, that there was nothing left. But the news of his sister’s possible death made him realise that there had been one thing. One thing that he had been clinging to. Vengeance. And now she’d taken that from him too.  
They didn’t wait for his consent. In some part of his mind, he’d known all along he’d had no choice. The anger inside of him remained there, while the shell of him showed only shocked stillness. None of them knew that the anger had paralysed him further than the bullet that had shattered his kneecap. Ramsay barely registered the car journey to some morgue somewhere. It could have lasted half the day for all he knew. His mind burned with hatred as he cursed his sister over and over, all the while fighting the sense of helplessness that was threatening to take hold. It frustrated him beyond belief that there was nothing he could do with this rage, no one to aim it towards. No goal to achieve. No prey to kill. They needed him to identify her body, yet Ramsay didn’t need to see a corpse to recognise that lying little whore’s work.  
His mother’s body was easier to look at. Her head had remained in one piece for the most part. Ramsay recognised the mean mouth and pinched nose that all their money had gone up. With a blank face, he gave a single grim nod to confirm it was her. Then they turned him to the other table. It seemed absurd that the reason he couldn’t turn and walk away was because of the corpse right in front of him. The head remained covered; the reason being that the bullet had caused too much damage for it to be identifiable. Nevertheless, he could still see the customary smirk in his mind’s eye.  
“We think she shot your mother before taking her own life.” The officer informed indelicately.  
_That sounds like Effie_.  
Ramsay barely gave the body a glance; checking only for the scars at her wrists. The rest of her skin was clear of bruising, bleached a dazzling white by the bright lights above her, clear of any other scarring. If he’d needed to be sure, he could have asked them to roll her over so they could see the ruined flesh on her back from where he had once flayed her. But there was no need.  
“That’s her.” Ramsay snarled. He was almost grateful when the prison guards pushed him away, and back to the hell he would never be freed from.

He let his brother sit and stare at nothing for a little while longer, though apart of him started to wonder if the procrastinating was mutually beneficial. Lighting a fag, Jamie looked out of the window of the beaten up, undoubtedly stolen vehicle, at the sky. There was no hint of blue, but no ominous grey either. The sky was a dull white, the air colder than it looked. Without a heater inside the car, the cold had seeped in. Jamie did his best not to shiver; clutching his Harrington around him and taking a pull of the cigarette. The smoke burned his throat still, but he no longer coughed with every drag, and took some pride in that fact.  
“I don’t think I can do this Jamie.” Damon’s voice was quiet; threatening to break at any moment. In his hands, he held the letter. The white paper flapped in his brother’s shaking hands.  
“You can, Damon.” Jamie said, not allowing the slightest hint of doubt to show in his face and voice. For perhaps the hundredth time that morning, he recalled the last words of guidance his brother had said to him.  
_You just need to be brave now_.  
Then they had dragged him off and put him in prison, and his brother had never been the same again. Jamie had never worked out what had broken him more; prison, or finding out about Effie. Mum hadn’t let Damon come back after his release, so it wasn’t until he’d found Damon on their doorstep that he saw him properly. He’d been so drunk he couldn’t walk; relying on one of the pillars in the porch to keep him sat upright. Jamie didn’t tell his mum at first, going to Damon instinctively and sitting down beside him. His face had been streaked with tears, and his whole body trembled. “She’s dead.” Damon had sobbed, covering his face with his hands. “Effie’s dead, for real this time.” Then he’d been unable to speak, though Jamie hadn’t needed to hear anymore. He’d wanted to cry too. Effie had been his friend, and Damon had loved her. He’d thought it would be just the three of them, happy forever. But then Effie had left them and Damon had been put in prison, and Jamie had had to grow up.  
“Come on.” He said gently, covering his brother’s hands with his own. “Don’t be a pussy.” Jamie chuckled. Damon couldn’t help but smile then. “Pussy.” He muttered, disgusted. They both laughed, before remembering it was wrong to. Damon got out of the car first, and Jamie followed, always watching him and fearing a breakdown. Lighting another fag, Jamie handed it to his brother; sensing he needed a distraction of sorts.  
Now outside the car, they could smell the salt from the sea. The wind was ice cold, and tried to drive them back with a vengeance. Jamie ignored it, leading the way up the steep slope, stopping at the top to check his brother was following. He was, though he kept his eyes down, as if in denial of where they were going, and what they had to do.  
Looking forwards, Jamie could see the grey expanse of sea; white crests dotting the wasteland occasionally. Closer still were two figures, both at the cliffs edge facing the ocean. One was a woman, her brown hair tied up in a stylishly messy bun to protect it from the elements. The other was a dark-haired man, sat in a wheelchair.  
“Do you know them?” Jamie asked once his brother joined him at the summit.  
“I’m not sure.” Damon replied, his face grim. That was a good face, Jamie realised. They came few and far between nowadays, but it was one of Damon’s old faces. Anything was better than that absent, broken stare Jamie had had to look on days after his brother had come back. He was pleasantly surprised when Damon took the first step towards the figures. The woman sensed movement behind them and turned to look, before placing a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. It took more effort for him to manoeuvre a turn in his wheelchair.  
“I should have known it was you.” His brother said, loud enough for them all to hear. The man in the wheelchair smiled up at Damon, then held out a hand for him to shake. “Good to see you again Damon. This is my carer, Margaery. She knew Effie too. I hope you don’t mind her being here. She thought it was such a good idea…”  
“Idea? It wasn’t…I thought maybe it was you that sent the letter.” Jamie watched his brother carefully, but Damon showed nothing but confusion as he held out the letter to show the man. He took it and frowned down at the short note.  
“I got the same one.” He said, shrugging though still clearly perplexed. Sensing his brother was dwelling too much on it, Jamie reached out and squeezed his arm. “Oh, yeah. Domeric, this is my little brother Jamie. Jamie, this is Effie’s brother.” For a moment, Jamie’s heart stopped. He didn’t recognise the man in the wheelchair, and he was certain Ramsay had been her brother’s name. Everyone looked around at each other, suddenly growing anxious. “I’m Mr Bolton’s son, so I was Ramsay’s half-brother. Effie was my sister, though not by blood.” Domeric explained with a gentle smile towards Jamie, who released a sigh of relief. They stood in awkward silence for a moment.  
“So, you didn’t send the invite?” Damon asked. Domeric just shook his head. “Then who did?”  
“Look.” Margaery had been the one that had spoken, her gaze fixed on something behind Damon and Jamie, and they all turned to look. Another man and woman were walking towards them, hand in hand. “Jeyne?” It was Margaery again. She hurried towards the woman and embraced her fondly. Jamie didn’t fail to notice that Damon had remained silent, and was now staring down at his own feet.  
“Margaery, it’s so good to see you. Thanks for the invite. You remember Anguy don’t you?” Jamie observed the interaction with childish curiosity, and noted how Jeyne seemed to look happy and sad all at once.  
“Yeah, and I didn’t invite you? None of us seem to know what’s going on.” Margaery laughed.  
“Oh.” Jeyne looked past Margaery at the rest of them; her gaze quickly zoning in on Damon’s back. “Damon.” She breathed, her eyes filling with a mixture of hatred and fear. Swallowing hard, his brother turned. Jamie stepped forwards, once again worrying about how his brother would react to this sudden confrontation.  
“What on earth are _you_ doing here?” The woman spat, looking ready to charge towards him. Damon looked resigned to the attack. “After everything you’ve done? After all you put her through? It’s sick. You should be locked up.”  
“Stop it!” Jamie yelled, stepping between his brother and Jeyne.  
“Jeyne,” Margaery also tried to break in.  
“No! You don’t know, none of you do! He’s just as bad as the rest of them! He used Effie. None of you know. None of you were there.” And still, his brother said nothing. Damon didn’t defend himself. Jamie knew that he felt he deserved this. But Jamie also knew that he didn’t.  
“No, _you_ don’t understand.” Jamie told the woman brazenly. “Effie loved Damon, and he loved her. But it wasn’t that simple.” They all fell silent then. Taking a step back, Jamie took his brother’s hand; only to find himself pulled into a tight embrace. He allowed it, knowing that the alternative was that his brother would cry. He hated seeing Damon cry.  
“I’m sorry.” Jeyne said finally. Damon’s grip loosened slightly. “I was too quick to judge. I did the same to Effie when she arrived at Barrowton.” Damon let him go, then met Jeyne’s gaze.  
“I understand.” His brother’s voice was unwavering. “I’m sorry too.” There was a moment when no words were said, yet a million passed between Jeyne and his brother. Jamie didn’t ask for an explanation. In truth, he wasn’t sure he wanted one.  
They all were then distracted by yet another arrival. A blonde-haired girl this time accompanied by a boy that looked about the same age as Effie, both of them looked unsure and wary as they approached. Domeric wheeled himself towards them, smiling gently. “It’s Myrcella isn’t it?” He asked the girl. She nodded. “This is Podrick, he got a letter too.” Myrcella told Domeric. Podrick remained silent; staring at his feet.  
“It was good of you to come.” It was apparent that Domeric was now taking control of the situation. Myrcella went and stood beside Margaery, smiling at her shyly. Shortly after her, a man appeared at the top of the hill, and strode towards the rest of them; his hands buried in his pockets awkwardly. His hair was black, his eyes a bright blue.  
“Hi, do you guys know anything about this letter thing? I got it in the post.” He asked once joining them, showing Domeric the letter.  
“Yeah, we all got the same.” Domeric replied. “What’s your name?”  
“Gendry. Do you know what all this is about? It doesn’t say anything on here.” Gendry looked around at each of them; his eyes lingering momentarily on Damon and Jeyne, perhaps recognising them.  
“Effie Snow.” Damon said, smiling. “It’s about Effie.” Regret and guilt passed across Gendry’s face.  
“She died, didn’t she?” He asked. Jamie inched closer to his brother.  
“Yeah.” Damon placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
“Why here?” The man with Jeyne asked, shifting from foot to foot to fight off the cold.  
“I brought Effie here once. She sat near the edge until she was blue with cold. I think she liked the barrenness of it. It’s not perfect, but it’s not ruined either.” Domeric looked out towards the sea again, smiling fondly at the memory.  
“So who sent the letters?” Margaery asked, looking around at each of them.  
“Who knows? It’s a mystery.” Domeric shrugged.  
“And isn’t that just Effie all over.” Damon smiled sadly. It was a smile each of them wore. Jamie smiled too.  
“What do we do now?” Gendry asked. Damon looked down at Jamie; is grip on his shoulder tightening briefly, telling him it was all going to be okay.  
“We remember.” Jamie said, smiling back up at him.

They stood with their backs to her; staring out towards the sea. Did they see the beauty of it like she had? How imperfectly perfect it was?  
Turning away, she headed back down the slope and down the road, hurrying towards the car that awaited her. It wasn’t until she was inside that she realised how cold she was. Her hands had turned blue, and her cheeks were red from where the wind had bitten at them.  
“Got your ego boost yet sweetheart?” Euron asked, his voice laced with irritation.  
“Just drive.” She ordered coldly. Waiting until his focus was on the road ahead of them, she reached back to the backseat, where a bag full of pointless items sat amongst the rest. Digging around in it, she pulled out an old, worn shirt. She felt instantly warmer in its embrace.  
It hadn’t been about her ego.  
They were safe. All of them. Safe from the monsters that had haunted her, but threatened them all. They were safe, and they were happy. And they remembered.  
Wrapping Damon’s shirt tightly around herself, she smiled her Effie smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, first of all well done! You made it! You survived!  
> Second of all, thank you so so so much for following this story, all the way to the end. I honestly don't know where to start...it's been such an experience. I've been working on this for almost a year now, and so much has changed. This story has been with me through some pretty tough points, and now it's over I feel like the rug has been torn out from under me a little bit. I'm gonna miss Effie, and Damon.  
> Anyways...thank you all for reading, and for the ongoing support and comments. It's been one hell of a journey, and a lot of fun :D

**Author's Note:**

> Effie: Child Psychology – Black Box Recorder, Can You Feel My Heart – Bring Me The Horizon, November Song – When The Clouds  
> Ramsay & Effie: Monster – Meg and Dia, Let Me In – Tracey Thorn (Early Ramsay/Effie), My Immortal – Evanescence, Little Things – Tracey Thorn  
> Damon & Effie: Ace of Spades – Motorhead (More Damon than Effie obviously), Vampire Smile – Kyla La Grange, Northern Lights – Jaymes Young, Poison and Wine – Civil Wars, Give You What You Like – Avril Lavigne, I’m Not Yours – Angus and Julia Stone, Take What I can Get – Matthew Mayfield, Draw Your Swords – Angus and Julia Stone  
> Barrowton Girls: This Is What Makes Us Girls – Lana Del Ray, Follow Me Down – Tracey Thorn


End file.
